Whiskey Lullaby
by LithiumReaper
Summary: There are some things you don't choose, but choose you. Life almost never turns out the way we intend, so when you lose some, you get to win some, right? Dark fic, taboo subjects, swearing, sex, etc. *No magic*
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's note at the bottom :)**_

_Summary:__ There are some things you don't choose, but choose you. Life almost never turns out the way we intend, so when you lose some, you get to win some, right? Dark fic, taboo subjects, swearing, sex, etc. All human_

_**Whiskey Lullaby**_

It started to rain again. The last few days have been dreary, like they mostly are when winter comes along, but now even more so. The nurses were tired, the doctors have nothing much to do and the patients are quiet, well, those who aren't drugged are quiet. There hasn't been a new patient in a few days, which is oddly strange, yet gives off an amazing feeling that no one needs them right now.

Straightening her uniform, the crisp white doing nothing for her if she was being brutally honest, her pale skin and blonde locks combined with this God awful uniform of hers, she looks like a ghost. Nurse Brown checked her watch and straightened her name badge. Its Wednesday today, which means that Dr. Weasley's brother would be visiting the _great_ doctor herself. Sarcasm successfully detected.

Dr. Weasley. Ugh, what a bitch. She made her work on Christmas, which as you can tell, sucks. Draco was very angry, but does the bitch care? Nooooo! Throwing her hair from her shoulder and huffing, Nurse Brown felt herself blush. She knows why the wicked witch made her work on Christmas day. It was due to her behavior at the staff Christmas party.

Dr. Weasley brought her boyfriend, Harry, and her brother Ron along with her to the party. The moment Ron entered the room, she had felt all the blood drain from her face and settle in the region of her feet. His pale red hair contrasted with the marble white of his skin. His nose and cheeks had a slight red tinge to them, making the little freckles on his skin stand out more than they already do. His broad shoulders followed next as Nurse Brown made her quite obvious perusal of the top honcho's brother. He was wearing a black t-shirt with a loose red button-down shirt over it, paired with dark jeans, jeans she wouldn't mind leaving on her bedroom floor mind you, and sneakers.

Nurse Brown had made it obvious she wanted him, right from the moment she sauntered up to him, pushed her chest out and giggled more than was necessary whenever he said something funny, or not even remotely funny. She put herself out there along with a flag that yelled at him to get his attention. She had made with the touching of various parts of his body, looking into his eyes from beneath her lashes, pouted at him, touched his leg dangerously close to his crotch, basically everything she could.

However the moment she moved toward the bathroom, Dr. Weasley had taken a strong hold of her arm and directed her to the punch bowl.

"Stay away from my brother." She had hissed. Nurse Brown pulled her arm free with a scowl.

"Who am I to deny that maybe he wants to go home with me Ginny?" Nurse Brown spat right back. Ginny stepped closer to Nurse Brown and stared right into her eyes. The idea was to intimidate. She succeeded.

"Just because he wants a quick fuck from you, doesn't mean he'll keep you around. You'll be out the door by the time he flushes the condom down the drain." And with that Ginny turned around and walked back to her boyfriend and brother. Nurse Brown quickly went home after that, to the arms of her controlling, yet rich boyfriend. She doesn't mind that he wants to know when she goes to the loo. He's just an in-between while she patiently flirts with Ron. Until she gets him.

"Lavender?" Being pulled from a day dream/nightmare sucks. The fantasy she had brewing about Ron was popped before she could even imagine him naked. Turning around quickly, she came face-to-face with said beefcake.

"Oh, hey Ron." Lavender plastered a big smile on her face and pushed her breasts out for good measure too.

"Are you okay? I called your name three times before I could get your attention." Ron smiled. "Don't let my sister work you to death, okay?" He said with a wink. Lavender found herself swooning. Yes, swooning.

"I'll go on back there. No need to buzz her to come and get me. I know the way by now." Ron grinned. Lavender didn't even have time to speak before he slid past her and down the hall to his sister's office. She might have been staring at his ass in those tight jeans.

Lavender wanted to walk over to Ginny's office and eavesdrop on their conversation, just to hear Ron's voice. Knowing how much Ginny hates being caught off guard, Lavender picked up the receiver to tell her boss that Ron is just outside her office, she found herself listening to a conversation already taking place.

"_I found her. She said she'll come in. She needs help Harry. Yes, yes, I know, but there's nothing I can do about it now. Just-please, don't tell Ron."_

Lavender heard her voice leaving her throat before she could help herself, upon hearing Ron's name.

"Doctor, your brother is here." She could almost feel the shock combined with a scowl coming from the other end of the line. A gruff 'Thank you' was heard when the door opened. Ginny quickly ended the call with Harry and the intrusion by Lavender mere seconds from each other.

Lavender couldn't help but wonder who the good doctor had found, and why the hell shouldn't Ron know about it?

A/N: Helllloooo all! Okay, this is a new idea I had, and it's just a little thing brewing at the moment. If there's any interest, like more than 5 reviews, I'll continue this, if not, I won't let either of us suffer by keeping it on. For those who are following my other story, I'm still busy re-writing it, and I'll have it on as soon as it's perfect for you guys!

Please review before you leave and tell me what you think! :D

P.S.

Chapter two will be up soon, and it will be much, much longer than this one


	2. Chapter 2

_Summary:__ There are some things you don't choose, but choose you. Life almost never turns out the way we intend, so when you lose some, you get to win some, right? Dark fic, taboo subjects, swearing, sex, etc. All human_

_**Whiskey Lullaby**_

Never in her life has Ginny been this angry before. She'd wanted to strangle Lavender many times before, but _this_ takes the cake. There is a reason why she prefers meeting Ron at the front desk, yet for some or other reason, Lavender decided to tell her about Ron two seconds before he entered her office. As much as she loves her brother, she hates it when he sneaks up on her like this. Some things never change though…

"Hey Gin." Ron grins and closes the door behind him at the same time Ginny ends her call, and slams her office phone down with such force that Ron actually winces.

"Ron." Ginny greets back grumpily. "You know, there's a reason why I meet you at the front desk."

"Yeah, but I figured the less you want to do with Lavender, the better." Ron has always known her better than she thought. Ginny only grumbles something unidentifiable under her breath and walks over to the couch on which Ron usually makes himself comfortable.

"How's your arm?" Ginny asks and motions to the arm Ron is holding rather closely to his chest as he sits down on his usual couch spot.

"Fine. Just a little itchy this morning, but it ought to be better before I leave." Ron sighs and stretches lazily as Ginny sits down next to him.

"Ron, about that-"

"Don't Ginny. I'm not changing my mind. I'm thirty! I'm pretty sure that by now I can make my own decisions." Ron says without looking at her.

"Okay." Ginny whispers. She can feel those stubborn tears coming to her eyes, but refuses to let them fall. There have been a lot of things that have pulled them apart the last twelve years.

Since growing up, they've been best friends without even needing to utter the words. They shared a room; they had secret adventures in their mother's garden. Second only to the twins, they were the closest siblings. When Ron went off to school, Ginny cried. She cried so hard that it felt like her entire world would shatter. It was like saying goodbye to him, fearing that she might never see him again, and in a way she never really did. She never saw her big brother, the one who would chase her around the garden with a worm balanced precariously on a stick; the one who punched Draco Malfoy when he teased her; that innocent brotherly look he would get when looking up at the trees, or thinking up a new game for them to play. That Ron left the day he went to school, but was replaced by a different Ron altogether.

Ron came home on the third day of school with a new friend. Harry Potter. Back then Harry was a gangly child. His arms were as short as his legs, his hair much too long and his glasses took up too much of his face. He spoke with a slight stutter and refused to meet anyone's eyes when speaking to them.

Harry and Ron became friends immediately (according to Ron anyway), even though their friendship was strange at first. They hardly ever spoke to each other, except when Harry was forcing Ron to do homework, in which case Ron most days just copied Harry's homework. Harry never complained. Ron always told her it's because he shared his biscuits with him at break time.

Harry lived with his aunt and uncle at that time. His mother and father had both died in a car accident when he was just a baby, and his aunt and uncle just sort of inherited him, not that they wanted him around anyway. The Dursley's are a filthy bunch. They pushed everything they could down their only son's throat and hardly ever gave Harry a _bloody thing_. The only clothes Harry had were given to him because they had become too small for Dudley to wear. Ginny often thought that Harry was the male version of Annie. Except he couldn't sing, or dance, nor did he have some wealthy old man adopt him. Wait… _bad analogy…_

By the time they turned ten, Mrs. Weasley _(as Harry insisted he call her)_ had taken Harry under her wing. She bought him new clothes and shoes; she bought his school supplies and regularly cut his hair. Ron wasn't quite happy about it and grumbled a lot about all the attention Harry was getting. Just before his eleventh birthday, their dad took Ron into his study. They were gone for a long time, but after that day, Ron never said a word about anything his mum or dad did for Harry.

On the first day of school of the New Year, Ron had signed himself and Harry up for football trials. Harry had kicked against it vehemently, saying that he couldn't possibly afford any of the gear they were required to have. Ron had walked into the house proudly, dragging a scared out of wits Harry behind him, stood before his mum and dad and declared that he requires four white football shorts, six pairs of white socks, two pairs of shin guards, two footballs and £50 for the trip they were going to take.

Ginny still remembers the look on their parents', Harry's and the twins' faces. It was the first time Ron had ever asked for anything that he would be including Harry. Harry's mouth nearly reached his knees. When their parents said nothing, Ron turned around and slapped Harry's chin; grinned and told him that they need to practice their dribbling while his parents mulled things over. They were inseparable ever since.

During one of their many, many, many detentions, they met Hermione Granger. The torture Mrs. Allan gave them was to sit in the library for three hours. At thirteen, they decided that they didn't really know any better and pretty soon Hermione became 'one of the guys', even though she really didn't want to.

Ron brought Harry and Hermione over almost every day…that is until Hermione met Viktor Krum. He was a transfer student and bad news in general. At sixteen, Viktor became the captain for most of the sport teams at school and dated all the pretty girls. Ron idolized him. Viktor was everything Ron wanted to be, except Ron wanted Hermione at his side, not every other girl out there. As it turns out, Viktor thought the same. Ginny always supposed that Hermione liked Ron the way he adored her. Idiots as they were, they didn't say a thing about the way they feel. Viktor asked Hermione out and she said yes. Her crazy bushy hair had calmed a little as she grew older; her limbs became proportionate, instead of seeing her hands be a few inches away from her knees. Her dark eyes had always attracted many boys before, but Ron chased them away as soon as they came sniffing.

Ginny had developed her own crush on Harry too at that time, but Harry being Harry, refused to even date her. He repeatedly told her that Ron's his best friend and he can't betray his friendship by dating his little sister. He even said that after a marathon of kissing behind the woodshed in their yard. It was infuriating enough to be in love with someone and know that he feels the same, but have your brother stand between you. Ginny was days away from saying something until the worst thing imaginable by a teenage boy happened. _Viktor and Hermione._ Ron was crushed when he found out. He distanced himself from Hermione, who would cry on Ginny's shoulder that Ron was ignoring her. Slowly Ron was changing again. He started dating left, right and centre. He dated a girl named Katy, poor girl had been in love with him since she was nine, left her for a girl named Ivy, dumped her for a girl named Norah, and so on and so forth. Ron never admitted anything, but Ginny knew that he was only doing those things to get over Hermione, or to show her that he's not in love with her. Ginny was never sure which, and she knew Ron didn't know either.

By the time the twins finished school, everything was in chaos. Fred and George enlisted in the military, something their mum never got over. Ron looked up to them at this stage too. He didn't know what he wanted to do with his life at all. Ron once told Ginny that he felt insanely jealous of her and Harry. Harry wanted to go to university and study to be a lawyer, and Ginny had dreams of going off to medical school. He had nothing, no direction. The twins made him see that perhaps the military was something he could join, and this was ensured when at nineteen, Fred was killed by an IED (Improvised Explosive Device is how Ron later explained it to her while choking back tears of his own). Their family was never the same after that. Ron became a shell of his former self. For a year and a half, he walked around hardly talking.

Hermione and Viktor had grown closer and eventually she stopped coming around and stopped even trying to talk to Ron. After graduation, she moved in with Viktor and they went off somewhere. Ginny didn't hear from her again. Two days before graduation though, Ron came home and gave their mum a slip of paper. He didn't have time to explain anything before she collapsed.

George had just gotten out of the military and opened a joke shop in town. Later that evening she yelled at Ron that she refuses to bury another son; a sentence spoken in intense emotion that caused Ron to visit home as little as possible. Ron and Harry got a flat together, well Harry got a flat and told Ron he could live with him until he deploys.

Five days before he left, Ron was told he would be deploying. He was just barely eighteen. There was an eerie silence in the living room the night Ron told them. Ginny had burst into tears. No one had the words to express how they felt. Bill and Charlie didn't say anything. They knew it wasn't their place and that nothing they say would change Ron's mind. Percy wasn't there, as usual, and George, well, he just nodded at Ron. Ginny always knew that there was an understanding between them, an understanding that no one else could comprehend. Ron was doing this for himself and for Fred. He never said it though.

The day he got onto the plane, Ron had hugged Ginny hard and told her to be proud of him. He walked away from her again and this time Ginny was sure that he wouldn't be coming back. At least not as the boy she knew him to be. When Ron stepped through the gates, Ginny has started crying. Harry comforted her as best he could. George patted her shoulder but didn't say anything. They were the only ones to see him off. That always killed her inside. There were only three people around to say goodbye to him, the last three people of his family he would see until he came back. _If he ever came back…_

"Gin?" Ron shook her shoulder and Ginny snapped out of her thoughts. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Ginny croaked and mustered up her courage. It's now or never.

"I found her." She whispers again, not trusting her voice this time.

"Found who?" Ron asks in confusion.

"Hermione." Ginny could feel Ron grow stiff next to her. She didn't even need to look at him to know how he would react.

"Really… She married to Vickie yet?" Ron spat.

"No. Luna says she studied law at Cambridge, but Victor drew her into the wrong crowd."

"And I'm supposed to care, why?" Ron asks dubiously. Ginny could almost feel him cocking his eyebrow at her.

"She's coming here…" That managed to get Ron's full attention, causing him to sit up straight and nearly stare a hole into Ginny's head.

"Here? Back to London?"

"No. Here, as in here to the facility." Ginny finally forces herself to look Ron in the eyes.

"She's coming here…? Hermione Granger?" Ginny could only sigh at the astounded look on Ron's face.

"Viktor got her hooked on drugs just after she passed her bar exams. Luna says she was going to be an associate at some big firm, but she quit before she even started. For the last five years, she's been off of the radar, but Luna says that she found her almost a year ago. She'd broken off contact with all of her friends and family. She was living with Viktor in some slum of a flat. She was so high when Luna found her that she couldn't even speak. She just sat there according to Luna. She called me a few months ago and told me all of this and asked me to help her. I met with Hermione almost every week and she told me some things-" Ginny broke off and cleared her throat.

"She told me some of the things that happened between her and Viktor. I begged her for so long to let us help her and she just refused. She even slammed the door in our faces one day. But then last week she calls me and tells me that she needs help. She wouldn't tell me what got her to this point, only that she needs help immediately. It took me a few days, but I finally managed to get her a spot here. The only problem is getting her away from Viktor. I can't do it alone Ron. Luna isn't much stronger than I am, and even if we pull Harry in, you know how scrawny he is. He can help, but Victor is huge, and he will definitely hurt him…" Ginny trails off when she sees the look on Ron's face.

"You just want me to help you, is that it? This entire time, you've been forcing me to come see you, and you only want me to help you get Hermione out of a situation she put herself into? Here I was thinking that you weren't like the rest of them." Ginny felt anger rise within her like a match being struck.

"I'm nothing like you make them out to be Ron! I've supported you through everything! I helped keep everyone together when you left, when you wouldn't even write letters home or call. Mum nearly went ballistic! You didn't care at all!" Ginny balled her fists and narrowed her eyes at Ron.

"Mum needed you to be here. I know that going into the army was your choice Ron, but it's been hard on mum." The fight left Ginny almost as quickly as it came.

"I'm not Fred Gin. Every time she would ever see me coming through the gates at the airport, she'll be seeing Fred. I'm not him and she'll never listen to reason…" Ron mumbled as he pulled Ginny into a hug. They stayed like that for a long time before he whispered.

"Okay. I'll help you get her out of there."

_***R*Hr*R*Hr***_

_**A/N:**__ Sorry it took me this long to get this out, but RL has been trying to kill me. Sorry it's so short, and it's just an over view of what happened, but naturally more will be revealed from our main characters. _

_Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed. And as a quick reply to the collective question about the song, perhaps it is, perhaps it isn't. You'll have to hang in there ;P_

_Feel free to leave your thoughts and stuff _


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Sorry for the long wait, Uni has been busting my head in a little. This chapter is where things really get serious, we'll be venturing into Hermione's addiction, and a few details of her life with Viktor will be revealed. All the info I have here, was found on **__**"Waismann Method: Advanced Treatment of Opiate Dependency"**__**, and as an academic person, I have to say never rely on Wikipedia!**_

_**The song Hermione is listening to is **__**Lana Del Rey's Video Games**__**.**_

_**Everything in Italics and '' is the thoughts of said character.**_

_**Whiskey Lullaby**_

Hermione breathes in the fresh air as she steps out of the taxi. Looking around, she notes nothing of real value in a crummy little town like this. Scratching her neck lightly, Hermione stares straight ahead at the building in front of her. It gives off an awfully menacing vibe, like the feeling one gets after visiting a haunted house for the first time. Nausea gets assigned to nerves, and the twitching of her hands goes to the 'I-haven't-had-my-fix' file.

"Where can I put these, ma'am?" The taxi driver's voice pulls her from her thoughts.

"Just leave them there, thank you," Hermione replies. She pulls out a few notes from her back pocket and hands them to the man. He smiles and nods in thanks. Sighing, Hermione reaches for her duffel bag, trying to ready herself for what lies ahead. She'd tried so hard to keep herself away from the Weasley family, and now look where she stands, about to subject herself to their judgmental eyes and cheery faces. Nothing would prepare her for what she would have to endure, but she needs to take her life back. Get herself back under control. A lot of people would never understand why she stayed with Viktor, even after he started using drugs. Not even her own parents. It might be one of the reasons why they aren't talking to each other anymore.

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Hermione walks to the entrance of the looming building to the tune of the taxi driving off. The place is way too quiet, apart from the soft rustling of the leaves and a few birds chirping. Seems like a normal Wednesday here. They weren't too far from London, but far enough from civilisation that she wouldn't accidentally run into someone she didn't have the strength to face yet. Well, everyone she doesn't want to face yet just happens to be living close by.

Pulling the sleeves of her sweater down halfway over her hands, Hermione pushes the door open, revealing an off-white reception area. A dark wood half moon reception table stands in front of her, with two corridors on either side of it, one leading left and one leading right. A place of this size, Hermione mused, must have a lot of rooms, a lot of space for screw ups like her. As quietly as she can, Hermione walks past a few chairs, which makes up the entire waiting area, and comes to a standstill in front of the receptionist's desk. A young girl with flowing blonde curls and a red headband sits with her back turned to the desk, typing away on her mobile.

"Excuse me?" Hermione says quietly. The girl turns around after a short pause and Hermione spots her name tag.

"Nurse Brown? I am here to see Ginny Weasley." Nurse Brown stares at her for half a second longer than Hermione finds herself comfortable with. Quickly averting her eyes, Hermione can almost feel this bitchy girl smirking.

"She's seeing someone right now. Take a seat. This usually takes quite some time." Hermione nods and pulls her duffel further up her shoulder and heads for the chairs lining the left wall. Hermione sits down on the chair farthest from the reception desk, her eyes looking anywhere but at the bitchy girl who was clearly _pretending _to be a decent person.

Hermione Granger has never been a fool. She did her homework. This facility had been in the top five for the last three years, and their success rate happened to be quite agreeable. The doctors are top notch and apparently the nurses are the best the country can offer. Well, this blonde cow certainly isn't one of them. Pulling her iPod from her bag, Hermione pushes the earphones into her ears as far as they could go, switching to her favourite playlist. Sadly, the first song to play just happens to be the one song she finally found that fit her relationship with Viktor. Unfortunately, during that time she still saw him as her saviour. '_The one man who turned me from the path of a monotonous life.'_

It started out innocently enough; they were using it recreationally. They mixed it up every now and then, using ecstasy when Viktor dragged her out clubbing; it kept her awake for hours on end while they binged on various forms of alcohol and shot each other up and enjoyed the high. They were untouchable, _for so long_, they were untouchable. Near the end of her exams, things got worse. Viktor started using more and more, and after a while, she got tired of continually saying no, so she just went with it. The ecstasy they used kept her awake so she could study, and the heroin kept her high as a kite. All in all, it felt amazing, but soon Hermione started to see the effects of the drug use on her body.

She had lost weight, _a lot_ of weight. She had always been a delicate woman, but due to her weight loss, her shoulder bones, ribs, spine, chest, every bone in her body was becoming more and more visible. Her face grew hollow, her cheeks started caving in little by little and the dark circles around her eyes kept growing and darkening. She started having trouble breathing, and got brain splitting headaches. Her mother and father kept commenting on her drastic change in appearance, so much so that she stopped visiting them.

There was one particular fight with her parents, one that made both parties say things they regretted deeply, but no matter how hard her parents tried to mend the fences, Hermione simply refused. She sent them a note, telling them to stop contacting her. She and Viktor moved away and Hermione didn't bother letting anyone know what her new address was. Cut off from her friends and family, the amount of drugs they used just got higher and higher. Until the moment came where she couldn't go on with this downward spiral any longer, and the things Viktor had wanted to go into...

'_No.'_

Shaking her head slightly, as if she is shaking herself from her thoughts, Hermione looks up toward the reception desk, seeing only the top of a mass of blonde curls. According to her research, things were going to get a little out of order soon. She hadn't used in twelve hours and forty three minutes, and she was feeling the burn just beneath her skin. Her arms were itching in withdrawal already.

Making up her mind to tell the bitchy Nurse Brown to get Ginny right this second, two people came around the corner, left from the reception desk, and they spot Hermione almost immediately and stopped. Well, Ginny yanked on the arm of the person next to her, and he stopped, looking up at Ginny only then following the path her eyes have taken.

"Hermione?" Ginny says softly, moving toward her slowly, the same way one would approach a scared animal. She isn't a scared animal, and she won't run. Well, not yet, if she can help it.

"Yeah... Guess I found you, before you found me, huh?" Hermione says, plastering on an obviously fake smile. Ginny darts forward and wraps her arms around Hermione, hugging her as if she is a fragile glass figure. She hasn't gained any weight yet, so maybe that's why Ginny is being so careful with her.

"It's so good to see you Hermione," Ginny whispers into her shoulder. Pulling back, Ginny gives her a teary smile.

"How long have you been sitting here?" Ginny steps back and tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear. One thing hasn't changed, Hermione notes; Ginny still has the same nervous tick.

"Just over an hour. The receptionist said you were busy with someone." Well, seems that Ginny's nervous tick and her quick temper haven't changed at all. Ginny turns and glares at the _lovely _Nurse Brown who stood up a few minutes before. Before Ginny could say anything, the man behind Ginny comes closer and looks at her with quite visible awe in his eyes, something he puts back from where it must have escaped.

"Hermione," he says, giving her an accompanying nod. He looks so familiar. The hair is in the same shaggy look she remembered it being, his skin is a little paler than she remembered and he has stubble now from an obvious lack of shaving for more than one day, but his eyes will never change.

"Ron..." Hermione smiles softly and moves a bit closer to hug him, but stops herself. It seems unlikely that he would have forgiven her for what happened between them all those years ago. If she was Ron, she too would have held a grudge against her. To say things ended badly would be a vast understatement.

"Ron, would you mind taking Hermione to my office? I'll just be a minute," Ginny asks sweetly. Ron never could deny his baby sister anything. He nods and steps around Hermione to take her bag. He gives her a curt nod and turns back the way Ginny and he just came.

Hermione follows Ron without protest. She supposes there is a reason why Ginny didn't come with them immediately. Nurse bitchy Brown was going to get a severe tongue lashing and for some or other reason Hermione couldn't help but grin_. 'Serves you right'_ Hermione's thoughts whisper.

Ron opens a dark wooden door; the plaque next to it reads _Dr. Ginny Weasley: Senior Medical Director_. She missed so much of her friends' lives. She has no idea if Ginny and Harry are together yet; if Ron has gotten married; how Luna is doing in her career and love life; she missed so much of their lives because she pushed them away and didn't think about them or even allow herself to think about them.

Ron puts her bag down with a loud_ thunk_ next to the two office chairs in front of Ginny's rather large _(and messy)_ desk. Hermione moves around the room slowly. There are various photos on the walls and on the oak cabinet. She spots Ginny's medical degree and smiles. Ginny always said she wanted to be a doctor. Moving over to the oak cabinet, Hermione runs her fingers over the soft surface, studying the photos behind the glass.

"That's the last photo we took with Fred," Ron speaks up from behind her. Looking over her shoulder, Hermione sees that he is leaning against Ginny's desk, allowing him to see which photo she was studying.

"What happened?" Hermione turns back to the photos, waiting for Ron to answer her.

"He died." Ron doesn't say anything else, making it clear that he doesn't want to talk about his brother. Hermione understands perfectly why he feels he has no reason to share private family details with her. She doesn't deserve to know anything about them, but she can't help asking anyway.

"And Bill? Did he marry Fleur?"

"Yes. Their daughter was born three years ago." Again he gives her nothing but a curt answer.

"Charlie and Percy?"

"Charlie is working for a company in Romania. Percy works under the Minister of Internal Affairs." Hermione nods and moves on to study the picture of Harry and Ginny sitting under the old tree that she remembers from her many days spent at the Weasley house.

"Did Harry wake up and ask Ginny out?"

"Yes." Rolling her eyes at Ron's _down-to-the-bare-minimum_ answers, she bites the bullet and turns to face him.

"And you? Anything spectacular happen in your life yet?" Smiling softly, Hermione ducks her head and looks at her feet.

"Why do you care?" Ron bites out. Before she can even reply, the door closes with more force than is necessary. Ginny marches past them and sits down behind her desk, ruffling through the papers strewn all over the place.

"Listen Gin, I'm going to head off. I've still got some things to sort out before the end of the day." Ron steps closer to Ginny and pecks her cheek. Moving quickly from behind the desk, Ron heads for the door.

"See you tonight?" Ginny asks with a hint of desperation in her voice.

"No, I don't think so. See you Gin." Ron nods at Hermione and disappears out the door. Ginny sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose and then her eyes. Without looking at Hermione, or even waiting for the question she must know is coming, Ginny speaks.

"He doesn't come home anymore. After Fred– he doesn't see eye-to-eye with mum anymore, so now he just avoids the house." Ginny looks up at Hermione and motions for her to take a seat.

"What happened?" Hermione asks softly as she sits down.

"I don't know," Ginny replies, as curtly as Ron did.

"Look Ginny, I know you guys must hate me, and believe me, I pretty much hate myself, but I want to make up to you. I don't want to live this life anymore. I need to get myself back together, and I've read that I need to make amends for all the crummy things I have done and if you'll give me a chance, I really want to fix things..." Hermione trails off, looking at her hands. It feels like an eternity to Hermione before Ginny speaks again.

"You're right. You've done a lot of shitty things, and as much as I want to yell and scream and blame you for the way Ron has become, and how you almost irrevocably destroyed every friendship you ever had, I won't do that, because it's too soon. We need to get you clean first and then we can talk about, well, everything that happened." Ginny moves a few papers around as Hermione looks up at her.

"I'll show you to your room in a minute, but we need to get the rules out of the way first." Hermione nods as Ginny continues. "First, you will be searched; just to make sure you have no drugs or weapons on you. You will be assigned your own room, because of your detox programme, the symptoms are quite severe and you wouldn't want to disturb the other patients. Every day, breakfast will be served from seven to eight. Once you feel up for it, group sessions start at eight-thirty, and then at eleven you have your one-on-one session with one of our psychiatrists. You are allowed a maximum of two visitors a day, but not during the first few weeks." Ginny leans back in her chair, rubbing her eyes in exhaustion.

"We use a certain method here. Most places substitute one drug for another, helping the patient taper down the heroin addiction. We don't do that here. Here we do it the old fashioned way. You have to go through all of the withdrawal symptoms, but you will be under medical supervision." Stretching her arms, Ginny takes a more informal approach before she speaks again.

"This is serious Hermione. The withdrawal symptoms are severe, and the amount of people who get clean are few and far between because to stop using is literally too painful. You are one of five heroin dependants we have here and I'll tell you from experience with them that it's tough. The first few weeks are hell. I don't know how severe your symptoms are going to be or how long until the drug is clean out of your system, but if you are willing to get clean, we will do everything in our power to help you."

Everything Ginny just said slams itself into Hermione. She knows the risks, and she has read the websites twice. But reading something and going through it are two different things, aren't they? _'I need this, I need this...'_ Hermione says to herself.

"I know what I need to do Ginny, and I need to get clean. I'll go through it all if it means I can get my life back."

Nodding slowly, Ginny looks up at Hermione.

"Well, let's get your papers signed and I'll show you to your room."

_**:::**_

_**A/N: Sorry for the long delay in updating. I hope you guys like the chapter. It feels more like a filler chapter to me, but maybe I'm just going crazy.**_

_**Firstly, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed the last two chapters. You guys are awesome. But I just have one thing to point out, one reviewer asked about how Ron could possibly still be mad at Hermione for things that happened so long ago, and my answer is you'll just have to wait and see. I can't reveal everything yet. What would the point be in writing this story if I just gave everything away so soon? END OF RANT :P**_

_**Okay, the next few chapters are going to be rough. Hermione has agreed to go 'cold-turkey' with this, and if you check any website on heroin addiction, you'll see that the list of withdrawal symptoms is a long one, and they are quite severe. So if you perhaps have a bit of a loopy stomach, just skip over the rough bits in the next few chapters.**_

_**Please leave me a review and let me know what you think!**_

_**Mary**_

_**XOXO**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this story. I merely play around with them a little. I don't own Limp Bizkit either, just two of their albums...**_

_**Whiskey Lullaby**_

By the time Ron reaches the hallway, a measly few paces away from Hermione, his blood is boiling. Clenching and unclenching his fists and biting the inside of his cheeks, in order to just keep moving away from that office door, starts to become painful. If he were to turn around now, Ron's sure he would burst through the door and say things he will regret the moment they leave his mouth.

Lavender isn't at the front desk as Ron storms off, the glass doors making an uncomfortable clanging sound as they smack shut behind him. The sun has moved past the tall trees lining the short walk to his car. The heat is comforting on his back; the slight breeze blows a few leaves across his path, only for Ron to crush them under his booted feet.

Ron digs through his pockets to find his keys. Clenching his jaw, he curls his fingers around the cold keys, pulling his hand forcefully from his pocket. The next few minutes blur by as Ron unlocks his car and slides into the driver's side, forcing the key into the ignition (and nearly breaking it in the process). His hands are shaking and his breathing has quickened without him even noticing it.

Ron can feel it coming, he always could. Well, except from the first time it happened of course. This one seems almost as if it hasn't even been provoked out of hiding. Ron closes his eyes, and can almost see his counter of thirty-one days spin back to zero. He can't let this happen, not now, not when he's worked so bloody hard to try and get his life back in order. The first thing he started with was these stupid attacks. Anything can happen, any mundane task, and it would creep up on him from the tip of his spine to the base of his skull. At first, it was impossible to stop it, but he has learned how to push it away, and today, Ron is failing miserably.

One deep breath after another, palms spread out and fingers digging into his knees. Breathe in, breathe out. Rinse and repeat. For a few minutes Ron just sits like this, breathing, forcing his mind to go blank. To anyone walking past his car, he would appear to be sleeping, instead of fighting off a wave of nausea and anger. Feeling himself calming down, Ron opens his eyes. There is no one near him or his car. Turning the key, Ron calculates the best way to get to the flat he shares with Harry for the time being.

Thirty-one days can turn to thirty-two tomorrow. Finally, Ron feels a semblance of normality he can keep to himself for a little while. Pushing the car into gear, Ron heads into the direction of home, silently praying that Harry is home early.

**:::**

Harry's car isn't in the garage, so Ron knows the house is empty. He doesn't even bother calling out for confirmation, he simply closes the front door and moves to his room. Ron sighs and sits on the edge of his unmade bed. They need to clean this place up. There are clothes strewn everywhere and the dishes are piled so high that there might be a lobster in the sink and neither of them would know it. Ginny used to comment on it, but stopped quickly when she saw that they were not even remotely listening to her.

Running his fingers over his head, Ron stands and decides to root through his closet where he finds a pair of black tracksuit pants and an old t-shirt. He steals a pair of Harry's clean socks because he just knows he doesn't have any clean ones left. They need to do laundry too, Ron mentally adds to the list.

Ron dresses quickly and pulls on his trainers. He needs to take a long-assed jog and then hit the gym. Neville might be there, maybe not. He keeps forgetting that all his friends have nine-to-five jobs these days. He's the only one who has a few days off still before he has to get back to the base and have his arm checked out by that really pretty doctor that volunteers there.

Ron leaves his keys inside the flat and pulls the door closed behind him. By the time he gets back, Ron just knows Harry will be back. And there is a talk looming; Ron can feel it in his bones and it's making him sick. Leaving the apartment block behind him, Ron starts jogging slowly, getting his muscles warmed up a little first. The last thing he possibly needs now is a sprain or a tear or something.

Something heavy jingles in his pocket. Patting around awkwardly before finding the heavy object, Ron sees his mp3player, the one he stashes only for his exercising. He completely forgot about it. Well, not like he was home to be able to use it. He must have pushed it into the pocket of these pants before he was deployed. He wouldn't exactly need these where we was sent.

The music is a welcome distraction from the outside world. His old playlist of Limp Bizkit albums scream into his ears and Ron smiles. He runs best with this genre of music. Keeping his arm tucked close to his body, Ron starts jogging slowly again to get himself into the rhythm he has neglected for the six months he was away. They couldn't really jog for very long or very far over there. _'Be ready for anything'_ is what they are told every single day. Keeping on your uniform pants and a t-shirt, they tended to lift weights, instead of jogging around a whole lot. _Ready for anything._

Ron rounds the corner and picks up the pace, his arm still close to his chest. Within minutes he's doing a full out jog, stretching his legs as far as they could possibly go without hurting himself. The music still blasts into his ears. Feeling himself relax even further, Ron pushes himself more, rounding another corner and jogging down the long street, before turning left on sixth and passing the playground. There are women around who turn and look appreciatively. Ron blocks them out and heads to the gym, which is now twelve blocks away.

Sweat is running down Ron's face, his back and a small spot on his chest are wet. His legs are burning now and his arm is just about to cry uncle when a car stops on the opposite side of the road. It's just another car, and Ron would have ignored it, except it isn't just another car and he does stop. A short man wearing black slacks and a dark grey jacket steps out of the car. His tie is loosened and the top button of his shirt is undone. He looks haggard, even from this distance. Ron pulls the earphones from his ears, the sound of heavy guitars and Fred Durst's voice fading into the background.

Slowly stretching his arm out in front of him, Ron tests his agility and winces when he straightens his forearm entirely. He's not quite there yet. A week, maybe two and he will have his arm back to himself. The cut along his forearm is still a dark pink colour, a clear sign that his arm isn't quite healed just yet. The physiotherapist has been pushing him a little more every single day. He has more mobility with his arm today than he had a week ago. He's almost there, almost back to normal. Then he will finally be able to take Neville on in the ring again.

He's aching to leave, but stays rooted as the man gets closer to him. When the only thing between them is the pavement, Ron lifts his eyes to look at the man.

"Hello Ron."

"Dad." The chill in his voice is clear. He has no reason to be standing here, twiddling his thumbs like a child awaiting a scolding.

"You should be careful with that arm of yours. I can't think that it is healed already."

"It's fine." Ron stares at Arthur Weasley. He's clenching his jaw so tightly that his jaw is sending out a slight tinge of pain.

"Ron..." Arthur starts, but Ron cuts him off.

"What do you want?" Ron jumps right to the thought racing through his head from the moment he saw his dad's car.

"I- Your mother and I want to ask if you would like to join us for dinner tonight. It's Wednesday..." Arthur trails off quietly.

"Ginny already asked, and no, I wouldn't like to join you for dinner." The venom in Ron's voice causes Arthur to step back slightly. Ron turns to leave, his wish of working out at the gym is now the last thing he wants to do. He just wants to get home, push the door shut with enough force to feel the bang reverberate through the walls.

"Ron please..." His father implores. Ron wants to ignore his father and walk home, but he doesn't. He turns around and walks closer to his father, stopping only when there is a large concrete slab between their feet.

"Where were you when I said please? Where were you when my own mother chased me off and slammed the door in my face? Where the hell were you when I got on that plane and the only faces that said goodbye and hello were Ginny, Harry and George?" Ron could feel the anger seethe through his veins again.

"The day you are able to answer me on why you swept me away like a piece of shit, Arthur, is the day I will have dinner with you again." Ron doesn't turn back again. Not even when he hears how his father cries his name out in agony.

Ron walks around for a while, not going home like he intended to. It's four-thirty and he knows Harry isn't home yet. He's been walking aimlessly for almost three hours. His entire day had been fucked up. First Hermione and now his father, it's as if he needs to be punished for the deeds of people he has no desire to have in his life anymore. Ron wants to lash out, scream, kick something, but he doesn't. This isn't the time or place for the childish behaviour he wants to exude from his every pore.

Running his hands over his face, Ron suddenly feels incredibly tired. He has just a little under three months left until he gets to leave again; until he gets to go home to the only group of people he can really call family. Guilt overcomes Ron at the thought. Ginny and George didn't push him away. They accepted his decision and welcomed him back with open arms. And Harry has always been a brother to him. They were his family. But even they wouldn't know exactly what he went through, not even George. His mother and father rejected him, pushed him away. His brothers, aside from George, distanced themselves from the fight. Not saying anything is saying something. Which is why he's ignoring their calls too. They weren't there when he needed them; they weren't there when he needed the support only a brother could give him.

George tried his best, but with everything going on inside his head, Ron knew he couldn't rely fully on George. He has demons of his own. But their parents still welcome him even with his choice. Jealousy stabs his heart. They must only have George around because they miss Fred too much to push George away too.

"What a fucked up family." Ron mutters into the cooling night air. He decides to head back to the flat and wait for Harry to come home. His fingers are cold and he's shivering slightly. His t-shirt is clammy, and the shift from red-faced and puffing to having a sudden urge to hurl has left his body in need of a hot shower.

The moment he's within seeing range of the flat, Ron spots Harry's car. Relief floods through Ron. He doesn't have to sit outside the door like a bum now. Ron knows that the talk is coming, but luckily he can tell Harry to _'fuck off'_ and not expect a fight to rain down on him.

Ron bolts up the stairs as quickly as he can, turning right when he reaches the third floor. There is a bit of commotion behind the front door of apartment 3C, but Ron pushes the door open anyway. Harry and Ginny are sitting on the couch, worry creasing their faces. Frowning slightly, Ron closes the door with a little force to attract their attention. Ginny jumps up, dropping Harry's hand like it was scalding hot water.

"Hey Gin..." Ron greets, moving past them toward the fridge. He nods at Harry and Harry grunts a hello in return.

"Where have you been, Ron?" Ginny asks in an almost inaudibly high voice.

"Out." Ron replies as if it's the most idiotic question his sister has ever asked him.

"Out where Ron?" Ginny pushes again.

"What the hell Ginny? I'm not five years old. I can go where I want. Wanna try asking the question you're really here to ask?" Ron says, opening the fridge and pulling a bottle of water from it. Ron unscrews the cap and takes a sip, his eyebrows raised in Ginny's direction.

"Mum called me in a state. Dinner has been cancelled. She says Dad came home and he had tears in his eyes. He wouldn't talk to her or even to me when Mum tried to hand him the phone. Dad doesn't cry. Ever."

"Your point being?" Ron bites out, seeing Harry's head rise. The expression on his face is one of warning. _'Don't push too far, mate.'_

"_My point being, Ronald_? My point is that Dad told me that he was going to talk to you today, to try and fix things. But whatever you said upset him so much that he won't even talk to _Mum!"_

"Ginny, I love you, but you need to learn when to mind your own business," Ron says, walking past Harry and Ginny and heading to his room. However, the moment he walks past Ginny, she grabs his injured arm in a rage, not realizing what she's doing. Ginny always had trouble thinking straight when she was angry.

"Jesus, Ginny!" Ron howls the moment Ginny tugs on his arm too forcefully. She recoils in horror, both hands flying to her mouth as she nearly trips over Harry's feet.

"You know what? I'm so fucking tired of all of you. I don't want to know shit about Mum or Dad. Where the hell were they when I was shipped back from Germany on a stretcher? Where the fuck were they when my arm was so far off that the doctors told me I might never be able to do another tour? You want me to make nice, Ginny? Fine, why don't I just head over there and fake every single thing I've been feeling these past few years? Why don't I just tell them that I forgive them for never once visiting me in hospital when I needed my Mum and Dad? Is that what you want, Ginny? You want a happy little family again? Newsflash baby sister: Fred is dead, our dear parents disowned me and you have the fucking nerve to give me shit about something _I_ said?"

Ron's hands shake with barely contained fury. His mind is going a mile a minute and he says the only thing he knows will truly hurt her.

"Fuck you, Ginny. You're just like the rest of them," Ron spits out and turns back around, stepping into his room and slamming the door shut. Ron leans back against the door, breathing in deeply, forcing his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. He can hear Ginny crying. Harry is trying to sooth her, but it doesn't seem to be working. Ron pushes himself off the door and heads to the shower adjoined to his and Harry's bedrooms. Taking a quick shower and dressing in dark jeans, a black t-shirt and a dark blue button down shirt, Ron pulls on his black converse and yanks his bedroom door open. It's nearing seven at night.

Ron grabs his keys and phone, heading to the front door. He can hear Ginny say his name. He doesn't turn around. He's got nothing to say to her right now, and if he did, he might even hurt her more. No one deserves that much verbal lashing in one day. Not with the Hermione shit she has piled on herself too.

**:::**

A pounding headache greets Ron the moment his eyes open. It feels like a train has run over him. His throat is dry and scratchy. His back aches and his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth. He's not in his room... There is a soft arm pressed against his upper right arm, his injured arm. The arm is soft to the touch and the pressure on his own arm is light, like a fleeting breath. There is a soft sigh and the mattress shifts, as breasts press themselves into Ron's arm now.

Ron quite literally feels his eyes nearly bulge out of his head when last night comes back to him. _Quite vividly..._ He'd gone to a bar he frequented every time he was home. He was content to just sit at the bar and drown his sorrows. But this bint wasn't going to let him just sit and wallow until he was hammered out of his mind. She sat down with him and matched every shot of whiskey he took. Then they started drinking tequila together.

Ron asked her why she was disturbing his zen (yes he used the word zen on her), and she just shrugged and told him that they were both too pretty to be drinking alone. He'd fallen for that. Normally, she wouldn't be the girl he'd have taken home in his hammered state, but her blonde curls looked tempting and her breasts were pert and he could imagine them a breath away from his mouth.

He'd willingly gone home with her, helped her take his shirt off while he toed his converse off. She was wearing a black and red bra, the bra he could see in his periphery right now. Ron groaned and stuffed his head deeper into the pillow. Her breasts were just as perky as he thought they would be, and her blonde curls were as soft to the touch as he knew they would be. Plus, she was a good lay.

The only problem _right now_ though, the problem milling through Ron's head is the photo he spotted of this blonde little firecracker and Draco Malfoy on her desk. Biting the inside of his cheek in an effort to keep himself from screaming, Ron sighs and turns back onto his side, pushing himself up with some effort. The room is spinning slightly and the sunlight he'd been trying to avoid is smacking him fully in the fact right now. They must have forgotten to close the drapes. Well, they weren't in a state to even remember about the drapes.

Clearly. If he'd been in a state to realise what the hell he was doing, Ron would have turned his ginger ass right around and would have run back to his flat screaming like a little girl. Before anything can happen though, Ron feels himself coming to terms with his own stupidity.

He's slept with Lavender. Fuck. Now there was no getting away from this crazy woman.

_Fuck._

_**:::**_

**A/N: Sorry for the slight wait, but here you go Thank you to everyone who reviewed on the last chapter. Again, don't expect me to reveal everything all at once. This is going to be a bit of a process, and I plan on making this a long story...**

**Oh, and excuse my rudeness, but my previous chapter was Beta'd by **_**See Them Fly. **_**She's really awesome *hugs***

**Please drop me a review with all your thoughts and comments and the like...**


	5. Chapter 5

_**I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this story. I merely play around with them a little.**_

_**Whiskey Lullaby**_

There's a cool hand on his shoulder, Ron noted. The nails are long and manicured. Ron feels bile move up his throat, one of the many reasons why he doesn't drink tequila. Well, that and the company he finds himself in when he wakes up, that is.

"What are you doing up Won Won?" Perhaps it's said in a flirty manner, a thought that is cemented when Ron feels naked breasts press into his back. Darting his eyes around the room in search of an easy way out of this...shit situation he has undeniably found himself in, Ron pushes on the mattress and gains his footing, albeit a little wobbly at first.

"I- I need to go." Ron stammers. He can practically hear Lavender pouting as he scoops his jeans up and pulls them up as quickly as he can.

"Why? It's not even seven yet. Stay." There's commotion behind him as Ron pulls his shirt over his head. Making the biggest mistake, well second biggest mistake imaginable, Ron glances back and sees Lavender sprawled over the bed, breasts up in the air and a grin on her face. Bile is nearly in his mouth when he finally pulls his shoes on. The headache is killing him, but there is no way that Ron is staying here, in this room, with this psycho woman.

"I- I've got somewhere I need to be." Ron says as he pats his pockets for his keys, wallet and phone. It's not like he's lying to her.

"Wonnie?" Lavender purrs. Fucking purrs. Nothing is worse than that.

"Uhm...see you." Ron grinds out and stumbles to the door, closing it gently behind him, even though it feels like he slammed it shut. Covering his eyes to the brutal onslaught by the sun, Ron doesn't even recognise the area he's in right now. Looking around to spot a street name, anything to tell him where he is, Ron pulls his phone from his pocket and calls a taxi. The drive to get home has never been this strong before.

:::

Her hands are shaking. It feels like her skin is crawling all over and not in a good way. Ginny had shown her to the room she would be calling her own for the next ninety days and perhaps even longer if it took that long to get clean. She showed her the grounds and the layout of the entire facility. Hermione couldn't be bothered one little bit. All she could think about is when she could get to her room, or score.

Ginny left her in her room and rushed off somewhere to answer a call from her family. Hermione was left to unpack her things in the company of a sour looking nurse who just looked through her belongings and confiscated everything that wasn't allowed in the facility. Tweezers, apparently, was the one thing she would have to learn to live without for a while.

She's been in this room for little over a day now and if anything, the shaking has become worse. Curling her legs up to her chest, Hermione lets out a whimper. Something resembling a live electrical current was running the length of her body, almost like her nerves were screaming at her to just numb the pain. Biting her fist to stop another whimper from escaping, Hermione shuts her eyes as tightly as she could force them. The pain just wouldn't go away, and there is nothing she can do to let it go either.

Getting clean was supposed to be a good thing, not torture of the highest degree. Her teeth were sinking into her flesh again, almost hard enough to draw blood. This might be the most awful thing she ever experienced. Miss chubby nurse decided against bringing Hermione anything else to eat, seeing as Hermione threw up her last meal, having just reached the bathroom in the nick of time. The only thing she had to clean was her face and scrub her hair. Carrot throw up in bushy brown hair is not as attractive as they make it sound in the movies.

There is a night nurse that checks up on her every two hours or so. She checks that Hermione is still alive and breathing, and not snorting, injecting or smoking anything illegal. They're quite good at it too. The nurse doesn't jostle her, she checks very carefully, making it clear that she wants to see Hermione's palms before leaving. A few hours later, she does it all over again. It's quite an annoying habit, and Hermione of all people knows what annoying habits there are in the world. If there was a book on it, she would have read it. Come to think of it, she has read it. Twice.

She used to love reading. If she didn't have to eat, she would become a hermit and just read the whole day. That girl feels like she's miles away, millennia's away. In the last five years, she would have laughed like a deranged woman at the mention of her school and university days. The morning nurse interrupts her inner musings as she calls her name rather loudly once she bursts through the door. She's clearly a day person...

One of those corny Def Leppard songs jumped into her mind; not a thing she'd repeat anyway.

"I see you're awake." Her thick Scottish accent made it a little difficult to understand her, but if she spoke slowly, Hermione could make out what she's saying; that, and she sounds terribly stupid. Win win for Hermione.

"Yes, I'm awake." Hermione replies, even though it seems like a stupid thing to repeat. The nurse can see she's awake, making Hermione repeat the obvious seem like answering a rhetorical question. No one likes a dunce...

"Didn't sleep much, did you?" The nurse asks as she pulls the curtains open, forcing sunlight into the otherwise dark room.

"No. It's a little difficult when you try to sleep and you can't stop shaking." Hermione replies, rubbing her hands tiredly over her face. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Hermione looks up at the stocky woman. Her gray hair is tied back in a neat bun as two grey-blue eyes look back at her. Hermione suddenly feels like the worst person in the entire world, thinking such mean things about this woman who only wants to help her.

"Don't worry dear. In the history of people booked in here, no one sleeps the first night. You're human love, don't go forgetting that." Gulping back tears, Hermione can only nod dumbly back.

"Now, go have a wash and come eat breakfast. The little ginger doctor will be in, in thirty minutes and has requested to see you before you have your one on one with Doctor Parker."

"Thank you." Hermione mutters as the nurse turns to leave. Before she can ask where the eating hall is located, the nurse turns around and smiles warmly at Hermione.

"I'll wait for you outside. No one remembers everything on the first day. Minds go all over the place." The nurse chuckles and closes the door with a soft click. She reminds Hermione of her mother, a warm woman who practically reads your mind. If a thing as magic existed, that would be one thing her mother would be able to do.

She misses her mother something awful. Hermione feels tears well up and shakes her head angrily. There will be no crying over broken bridges. Heading into the bathroom, Hermione thanks whoever is listening that she has her own room. Going through this is bad enough without having some spectator around to stare at her as she sinks her teeth into her fist every time her body goes into a painful spasm.

Finishing her shower, Hermione is pleased that her knees didn't give out. Her shaking has gone down to a slight rattle when she brushes her teeth. One step at a time...

:::

"One step at a time Ron." Ron is so tired of hearing that sentence that he wants to scream, but he doesn't. He knows they only mean well, but it doesn't give him the right to freak out and yell them into a new blood group.

"Yeah..." he echoes. "One step at a time Dean. Just difficult when the steps keep getting bigger and bigger. I need to be declared fit for duty, and we both know I am, so what's the hold-up?" Dean just looks over his shoulder at Ron and shakes his head.

"You're a good guy Ron, and we're friends, but this shit you carry with you is starting to fuck with my life too." Ron feels the question on his lips, but Dean continues. "You need to go for your psych evaluation too, and I can't declare you fit for duty, until you get your head sorted."

Ron stares at Dean for a moment before the puzzle piece falls into place.

"So how is Harry this lovely morning?" Ron bites back. Dan has the decency to look guilty and smiles. Ron knows this smile. He's been on the receiving end of this smile for years now.

"I don't need your pity Dean. I just need to be declared fit for duty." Ron stands up and heads for the door. He needs time to breathe. They don't let him breathe. Ron needs to vent, and scream and be angry, because damnit, he's just a man. He's made of flesh, not stone.

"See a doctor Weasley, then I'll sign your papers." Dean yells at his retreating form. Ron gets into his car and drives off base, fully intending to drive home and wait for Harry so he can give his so called best friend an earful about talking about him to other people.

A few minutes into his rage, Ron deflates and parks his car. He's outside the gym. Fred and George went to this gym every day, and upon his brothers' insistence, he started coming to this gym too. Its run and owned by an army vet. He used to run the place from Iraq, but then his wife took his son and left him without so much as looking back.

Lupin always kept to himself. He didn't give anyone shit about anything. If you were being an ass, he'd ask you to leave, and people did. He's a gangly looking man, but no one messed with him. There's a reason why the man has scars all over his body. The idea of "respect your elders" has never been a better description of the this man's reputation in the army, something the cocky Privates forget, he's your elder. You respect your elder. Well, that and his rank kicks your ideas about being great in the ass. He's what every pimple-faced boy wants to be. He's known for his heroics, his skills and knowledge, not his personal life.

It's still early and the place doesn't open for another few hours. Ron has no idea what he's doing, so sitting here seems like a viable option for the time being. Ron needs his brothers... George has his own life and bothering him with a rant wouldn't do him any sorts of good. So he sits there, the last place he can really say he still has left of his brothers. He always felt more at ease talking to Fred, but he's not around anymore, so Ron sits in front of a gym. Just look at how pathetic has he become...

Ron feels his heart lurch. He misses Fred. He misses George. Ginny and Harry, his mum and dad, Charlie and Bill and Percy. He fucking misses them so much that it hurts to breathe. His entire being feels like someone is pushing pins into every nerve ending he has. He misses the life he had before everything became so incredibly complicated. Banter with Harry and Hermione when she used to force them to actually do some homework in the library of all places. God, he even misses Hermione.

Missing something that's been dead and gone for so long, to Ron it feels like thinking Fred is going to get up out of his grave. Except people don't get up after being blown to bits, they don't make up with a family who'd pushed him away because of something he felt he had to do. Truly, deeply pathetic. What would Fred think..? What would Fred think indeed.

:::

**AN: So sorry for the delay. Uni decided that because it just happens to be my final year, it needs to kick my arse harder than ever before. I honestly forgot that I already had this chapter typed out. It's honestly been too busy for my liking.**

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, you've been a blessing to my little heart. This is dedicated to Belle, cause you're a honey bee and I owe you a lot more than you'd think.**

**Please review and let me know if any of you are still out there...**


	6. Chapter 6

_**I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this story. I merely play around with them a little.**_

_**Whiskey Lullaby**_

Stepping out of the bathroom, Hermione locks her knees together to stop herself from crumbling to the floor. Her knees wobble, making her look like she's either incredibly drunk or got caught out in a snow storm. Must be drunk then, 'cause she doesn't look blue at all.

Drying herself and towelling her hair, Hermione dresses in the pale gray sweats that all the inmates have to wear. Oops, patients. All the _patients_ have to wear the exact same ugly gray sweats. Not like she's complaining at all though. It's a nice change from being as high as a kite. Just last week she was half naked while shooting up, sweats being the last thing on her mind.

Stepping back into her room, Hermione sees miss 'I'm-such-an-incredibly-annoying-morning-person' standing in her room. _Waiting for her_. Creepy, but expected. Hermione holds out her palms and sticks her tongue out so it's clear that there are no drugs on her person. Her hands shake so much that Hermione pulls them back and tucks her arms around her abdomen as quickly as she can.

"Come on, breakfast is waiting for you." This woman is going to be a problem, Hermione notes. No one can be this cheerful just after seven in the morning.

"Okay." Hermione forces herself to say and obediently walks after the nurse. They make a left, walk down a very long hallway, turn right and then left again through two big white doors. The sign on the wall says 'CAFETERIA' and it's terrifying. People will actually see her now. Granted, she doesn't know these people, but they can still judge her. Running a shaking hand down her face, Hermione then pats down her damp bushy hair. They're bound to spring up like someone electrocuted her.

Ginny is in the cafeteria, standing by the table with maroon trays.

"Ah, little miss is here. I'll see you later deary." The nurse says, turns around and walks back out of the cafeteria. Hermione is almost too afraid to take another step, but it seems that Ginny will have none of it. She's already snagged a tray and is walking over to Hermione.

Ginny's eyes are red-rimmed. Looks like she didn't get a lot of sleep either.

"Good morning Hermione." Ginny nods. Hermione nods too, her own form of greeting.

"Sleep well?" Hermione cocks an eyebrow at Ginny, almost as if asking whether or not Ginny is being a daft prat.

"Yeah, stupid question." Ginny gives a little chuckle, but it ends as soon as it left her lips. Suddenly, there's a tray in front of her.

"Come on, you need to eat before your session with Doctor Parker." Hermione nods and takes the tray, tucking it close to her chest. Together, Ginny and Hermione walk to the food section containing only healthy breakfasts and two burly looking women.

"Give me your tray." Ginny orders.

"W-What?" Hermione stutters, not even noticing that this is the first time she's really talking to Ginny in the few minutes the redhead has been here with her.

"Give me your tray so we can get you some food." Ginny says, before adding- "I know your tremors are insane today, seeing as it's your first day off the drugs. Your entire body is fighting against you. You need to eat or you'll have no energy." Ginny holds her hand out, foot tapping impatiently. Hermione only nods before quickly handing her tray to Ginny.

"What would you like to eat?" Ginny asks nonchalantly, acting as if she didn't just speak to Hermione like she's a five year old. Hermione just nods over at a bowl of fruit.

"Fruit and yogurt? Okay then." Ginny marches closer to the counter, telling the _man-woman-person/thing _that she wants a fruit bowl and some yogurt. Hermione looks away, the exchange hurts to look at. Ginny is a free woman, the man-woman-person/thing is free. They can both go home in a few hours, something Hermione felt incredibly jealous of. The freedom...a home to go back to.

Clenching her teeth, Hermione shakes her head. There's no use in getting sad now. She knew what she was doing when she chose a fix over freedom and a home.

When Ginny comes back a minute or two later, Hermione wordlessly follows her to a table, one near the windows. _Escape-proof windows._ Ginny pushes the tray in front of Hermione, a wordless order to eat.

They sit for what feels like a lifetime, silently, neither attempting to converse with the other. Ginny is staring out of the window at the gray sky and Hermione alternates between staring at the awful maroon tray and forcing a piece of fruit past her lips. She feels proud. She's finished half the bowl of fruit, a feat she hasn't been able to accomplish in little over a year. She'd just use more when hunger pangs struck.

"Come on," Ginny says "I'll take you to see Parker."

Hermione just nods and stands. Ginny takes the tray and bins the leftover fruit, placing the yogurt on the tray of another inma-patient. Maybe, just maybe this will work. It has to work. _It just has to._

:::

Parker is an older man, a balding head with salt and pepper specks on the side of his head and over his dark brown beard. No glasses though. Hermione doesn't know why she always expects psychiatrists to wear glasses. They do have a couch, not one of those long ones that you can relax on. It's just a two-seater in a rusty-brown colour with fluffy cushions, one of which Hermione pulled into her chest once Ginny walked from the office.

Parker introduced himself and asked a few general questions including the stupid 'how are you's and 'hows the tremors.'

"Can I ask why you're here, Hermione?" Parker's voice pulls Hermione from her thoughts, before looking down at the cushion pressed against her.

"To get clean, I suppose." Hermione replies, still not looking up.

"You suppose?" Parker pushes.

"Yes. I didn't like the way my life was going, so I removed myself from the environment that will just lead me down the path of junkie-heaven, or junkie-hell." Hermione replies again, causing Parker to chuckle slightly.

"It's rare to find someone who is honest, Hermione." He lets his words marinade for a moment before continuing. "Would you like to tell me about your life, before you developed your addiction? I've been told by Doctor Weasley that you two knew each other growing up." Hermione chances a look at Parker's face. He's smiling, looking thoughtfully at her.

"Y-Yes, we used to know each other when we were younger. I was close friends with her brother and her fiancé."

"Was?" Parker asks.

"Yes, Ron, er, Ginny's brother and I...it's complicated. We stopped being friends a long time ago. I used to see Harry around, but when Viktor and I got serious, I guess I just pushed them all away."

"Is Viktor your boyfriend?"

"Was, yes. The drugs...it started with him." Hermione clears her throat uncomfortably.

"It's alright Hermione; you don't have to talk about everything right now." Parker says and Hermione hears him scribble something down. "Tell me about Ron and Harry. I've heard quite a bit about your days as friends from Doctor Weasley." This made Hermione smile. She hasn't thought about those days in so long.

"It's been so long since I've talked about those days. The memories feel like they don't even belong to me anymore..." Hermione clenches her jaw and stares out of the window.

"We were fifteen, and still inseparable. We were lounging about at Ron's house, like we always were. Ron and Harry played a match that afternoon and Ron had this really bad grass burn on his knee and up his thigh from where someone tackled him to get the ball. He was really happy about it. He even called it his battle scar, _"cause chicks dig scars" _were his words." Hermione chuckles and smiles slightly.

"Harry kept laughing at me, because I was trying to get Ron to sit still so I could clean it. His mum asked me to. He kept getting further and further away from me, until Harry had to jump behind him and trap his arms at his sides, with me on his legs to force him to sit still. I've never seen anyone throw two people off of him like that. He stormed out of his bedroom, steam literally coming from his ears. Harry and I rolled on the floor laughing for ages." Hermione feels her smile fading slightly, deciding to leave out the part where Ron came back, sat down next to her and flung his arm around her shoulders. She still remembers how she threaded her fingers through the hand hanging off her shoulder.

"They sound like two lovely gentlemen." Parker clearly sensed that Hermione was leaving something out and thankfully didn't push her to reveal more.

"They are." Silently adding _'they were'_ because she messed it all up, didn't she?

"What are your plans once you get out of here, regarding your friends that is." Hermione looks at Parker and shrugs.

"I don't really know. I've burnt so many bridges; I won't be surprised if every single one of my friends from school and university will want nothing to do with me." Hermione forces herself not to look away from Parker's face.

"You'd be surprised how many people have it in them to forgive your actions once they know the reasons behind them." Parker gives her a smile, a smile that says far more than she's willing to take in at the moment.

"Yes well, I've done some terrible things to friends and family. I honestly doubt they'd forgive me. It's a nice thought though." Hermione looks away, bitterly clenching her still shaking fingers around the cushion.

"We shall see, won't we?"

"We'll see."

:::

Hermione was escorted back to her room after her session with Doctor Parker. He offered her something from the pharmacy to reduce the shaking, but Hermione politely refused, stating that drugs got her here and she's not willing to replace one drug with another.

Sitting on her bed; back against the wall; soft mattress beneath her, Hermione forces deep breaths into her lungs. It hurts, _breathing_, it hurts like hell. Her hands are shaking more than they were before. A nameless, faceless nurse brought her lunch when it was clear that she wouldn't be moving at all for the rest of the day, well, except to throw up the lunch she'd eaten a few hours earlier.

Hermione had her bead bent so far into the toilet bowl, one might have been worried. Thinking had been forced down to the bare minimum, only thoughts _of 'get up and wash your face'_ were going through her head before thoughts of _'get back to bed'_ took over.

Feeling herself slide down the wall, pain pulsing through her body, Hermione clenches her jaw in very near agony, right from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head, _everything_ hurt. Something resembling light electrical shots veered paths through her entire body, beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

Hermione clenches her jaw to stop from crying out when she tries to crawl to the top of the bed, instead forcing herself to stay just where she is. One hand tucked between her thighs, the other digging into the soft mattress and duvet beneath her. There's nothing like the pain she's suffering now, not even the first pinpricks she felt when she shot up with Viktor for the first time. He promised her that it wouldn't hurt, but he never promised it wouldn't hurt once you tried stopping. He never talked about stopping.

Tears seep from Hermione's eyes into the duvet beneath her. This is what she deserves, she thinks, even though thinking makes her head throb and her eyes sting like someone set them on fire. Her entire body feels like someone is going overboard with acupuncture and decided to torture her with heated needles instead.

Is this what Ron went through, when he got injured? _No._ Hermione mentally slaps herself for even thinking about Ron. She shouldn't be comparing him to herself. His pain wasn't his fault, hers is. Her pain will always be her fault, every person she disappointed, every time she used drugs. Hermione feels herself letting out a hoarse cry, knees shaking, fingers digging into anything they can, be it her own flesh or the duvet.

This is what she deserves, she deserves this. She did this to herself, this is what she deserves.

:::

**AN: Please let me know what you think about this one, because I'm not entirely sure about it. I wanted to focus on Hermione for now, because things are going to get pretty bad for her from this point onward.**


	7. Chapter 7

_**I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this story. I merely play around with them a little. Unbeta'd so any and all errors are entirely **__**mine**__**.**_

_**Whiskey Lullaby**_

Ron loses all sense of time as he sits and waits for Lupin. Scarcely an hour later, Lupin is parking his old beat up car and locking it. It doesn't look like he notices Ron sitting in front of the door; he just nudges past him and puts the 'OPEN' signs out.

"You coming Weasley?" Lupin calls over his shoulder as he recedes into the dark bowels of the gym. Ron doesn't say anything; he just pushes himself up with his good arm and walks after Lupin. When Ron spots him, Lupin flicks the lights on and the sight is more a more beautiful, more violent assault on the eyes than the rising sun.

The gym is filled with weight benches; spinning bicycles; treadmills; punching bags...the works. Everything a person would need to punish his or her muscles. Lupin doesn't say anything, he just leans against the wall; pictures adorn the wall to his right and the light switch on his left.

"What brings you here Weasley?" Lupin asks. Ron diverts his eyes to the boxing ring he didn't see when he first entered the gym. He's losing it; he's not noticing key elements anymore.

"I needed to get away." Ron replies in an almost whisper. Out of his peripheral vision, Ron sees Lupin nod and push off of the wall.

"Let's get you taped up." Ron doesn't ask why Lupin wants to tape him up. He doesn't bother to ask, he doesn't bother to know.

Lupin pulls a roll of tape off of a table nearest to the punching bags. He gestures for Ron to sit on the bench and motions for his hand. Lupin tapes Ron's knuckles tightly. Not a word is spoken between them. It makes Ron feel safe, for the first time in such a long time, since his teenage years in fact, Ron feels _safe_. He feels comfortable. Lupin won't judge him. Lupin doesn't know him. Lupin can't judge his past actions or what goes through his mind, even though Ron is pretty sure that the old man can actually _read_ minds.

"How long until you ship out?" Lupin suddenly asks, bending down to retrieve the boxing gloves stashed under the bench Ron is sitting on.

"Three months. Heard yesterday." Ron replies as he shuffles his right hand into the glove Lupin holds open for him. "How did you know I'm shipping out again?"

"Still have a few friends around. They tell me little things I might find interesting, like you extending your stay in the military and getting your new orders." Lupin ties the right glove tightly around Ron's wrist. They're lace up's, not Velcro. Ron can still remember George telling him how much Lupin hates Velcro gloves. _"They slip off quicker than a spent prick"_ were the exact words Fred said animatedly, joining in on George's rendition.

"Or maybe it's because you feel guilty." Ron replies, holding his left hand out to Lupin to be stuffed into the glove. Lupin doesn't flinch; he just holds the glove open for Ron.

"Or maybe I'm worried about you and made your brother a promise." Lupin says back easily. His voice is flat. Ron wants to know what he's thinking.

"You don't even know me." Ron can't keep the sadness out of his voice. No one knows the Ron he's become. They all cling to the wide-eyed boy who'd jog after his brothers, help his mum in the kitchen and do anything his dad asked. _Anything to be accepted._ Now…now Ron just wants to be accepted for who he is faults and all. Pipedream really.

"I knew your brother. That's good enough for me."

Ron just nods. There are no words. He doesn't want to ruin the peace. Lupin motions to the punching bag, telling Ron without words to place a few punches. He does most of the punching with his right arm, his left is still tingly. Ron has learnt through experience that if it tingles, leave it the hell alone.

Ron has no idea how long he spends punching this simple bag. He has no idea how long Lupin spends clutching the bag in his hands, keeping control. It's like Lupin knows that Ron just needs someone to take control for a little while, to take the responsibility of everything in his life off of his shoulders for an hour, maybe two. Ginny doesn't understand that Ron just needs a little bit of mindless violence toward a punching bag to keep him from losing his mind. He can't even talk to Harry anymore in fear that he might just run to Ginny and blab it all out.

"What's the world come to when you can't even trust your _best friend_." Ron spits violently and slams his left fist followed immediately by his right. His left wrist and forearm scream in protest. Ron knows he's pushing his healing arm too far, but right now he doesn't care.

"What's my life mean when the only person I can talk to is a fucking tree!" Ron feels like screaming, smashing his fist violently into the punching bag. Lupin only grips the bag tighter. He doesn't say a word.

Ron slams his left hand into the punching bag repeatedly, the screaming his body is doing is getting deafening. Almost as quickly as his anger explodes, his arm explodes right along with his anger and frustration. Anger, frustration and pain leak out of his body at an alarming rate. Ron chokes back a sob, resting his head against the sweetly cool leather of the bag he'd just been pummelling.

Lupin walks back over to the bench, waiting for Ron to follow him. Once Ron falls down onto the bench, Lupin pulls his left hand away from his body to unlace the glove. There's a light purple bruise forming over Ron's wrist. It's going to kill him with fire in a little while. Ron just knows it.

Pulling the glove off, Lupin holds it between his knees and pulls the glove off of Ron's right hand. He laces the gloves back up and tie them together, putting them back safely under the bench.

Ron's head is in his hands. Tears are stinging his eyes, the soft wetness stinging him just like his arm. Lupin sits next to Ron in silence for a few minutes. Ron appreciates his quiet support. He just needs to get his head straight. He needs to make amends, well, sort of.

"Walk with me Weasley." Lupin says. Ron doesn't argue that he doesn't want to, state that his hand is killing him and his many issues are threatening to spill over. He doesn't say anything; he just walks after the gangly man. For the first time, Ron notices that Lupin is going bald. He wants to snicker, but the fear of this man in front of him shuts him up.

They walk to the back of the gym, past the boxing ring, through a shoddy looking door and into Lupin's office. There's nothing personal in this little room. He has a few filing cabinets, an old oak desk with an even older computer on it, a little bar fridge sits in the far corner next to another door. There are no photographs.

Ron doesn't notice Lupin opening the fridge or handing him a beer. He has to jiggle it in front of Ron's face before he notices. Lupin hands Ron the bottle opener before turning to pull the cord on the ceiling fan. It creates a much needed breeze to the sweat cooling over Ron's body.

"Isn't it a little too early for this?" Ron asks, looking down at the bottle in his hand. Lupin just smiles and hands Ron an ice pack. He knows Ron's arm is killing him.

"It's five o' clock somewhere." Lupin teases and sits behind his desk. Ron opens his bottle, handing the opener back to Lupin before sitting down in one of the visitor's chairs on the opposite side of Lupin's comfortable looking chair. Ron puts the ice pack gingerly over his forearm so that it can cover his wrist too. He doesn't know what to say.

"I met Fred when he was just a Private. He was awfully green when he transferred into my unit. The older lads teased him terribly, but he took it all in stride. He'd just grin and tell them to fuck off. I could tell it was the first time he'd ever been separated from his brother. He carried this silly photo with him all the time; it was in his left breast pocket, over his heart. It was a scrap of a thing, frayed at the edges and the colour was fading." Lupin takes a swig of his beer and Ron does the same. He doesn't dare interrupt.

"It was a photo of group of ginger kids, bunch of older brothers and a little sister. They were all smiling, one of them happened to be missing a tooth. Many nights I'd catch him staring at it before going to sleep. He never said anything and I never asked him. It was a memory he wanted to keep to himself. To this day I wish I had asked him to tell me why you were all smiling, why someone was missing a tooth." Lupin sighs and rubs a hand down his face. Ron takes a gulp of his beer. They sit in silence for a few minutes, before Ron starts speaking.

"I don't remember how old I was, but we were at a football match. The twins were playing. Fred was striker. He scored three goals that day. My entire family were sitting on the pavilions, cheering them on. One of the defenders targeted Fred, but got mixed up between him and George. Turns out he tackled George. His boot smacked into George's face and knocked out his tooth. The twins laughed like maniacs. My mum was livid. The player got carded and sent off the field. After the match Fred insisted mum and dad take a photo of all of us. We all stood around the twins. Mum arranged us so that the blood on George's shirt wouldn't be visible. That was a good day."

Ron's not sure why he just shared a precious memory with a complete stranger, but he couldn't keep himself from speaking.

"Ginny and I, we found that picture just before the twins left. We put all of our pocket money together and went down to the shops to print out a copy for each of the twins. Ginny and I sneaked one for ourselves too. We kept it in a simple frame at the bottom of a trunk that belonged to my nan." Ron finds himself chuckling lightly.

"Mum was livid that we'd done it, but the twins loved it. I can still remember how boisterously Fred had laughed when he opened the envelope." Ron falls silent, a small smile gracing his lips. Lupin is looking at him. Ron pretends not to notice.

Lupin and Ron sit in silence until they both finish their beers off. Ron can hear the gym workers, trainers and trainees bustling about behind the door. Lupin lets him sit for a little while longer after the beer has settled in his stomach and the glass bottle is warm beneath his fingertips.

:::

Unlocking the front door to his shared flat with Harry, Ron takes his first glance at his watch. 4:58pm. The sun is shining outside, but Ron closes the door on the rays invading from the hall window. He doesn't feel in the mood to be as cheerful as the sun's rays seem to demand.

He heads for the fridge. He hasn't eaten since last night. His headache is back, but it is more of a dull throb at the base of his head than a proper hangover headache. This definitely reminds him why he doesn't drink tequila, well, beside the cock-up he made by sleeping with _Lavender Brown_, a terrifying woman who scares the shit out of him. Sure, he flirted with her in the past, but why on earth he decided it would be a good idea to go home with her, he sure as hell will never understand. Tequila, thou art a foul tempered beast.

Ron pulls a bottle of water from the fridge, gulping it down greedily. Talking to Lupin, it feels like there's a weight that has been lifted off of Ron's shoulders. Granted, it isn't the entire load resting on him, only a slight fraction.

It felt nice to talk about Fred with someone who knew him from his days as proper military man. It felt nice to talk to someone who doesn't burst into tears at the mere mention of his dead brother's _name_. Lord knows Ron loves Ginny, but her propensity for crying only grates on his nerves these days.

Before he left, Lupin had said something rather strange to him. _"You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows." _Ron gave him an odd look and the old man explained further. _"You don't need to know someone to talk to them. Find someone to talk to about those thoughts in your head, thoughts you can't share with me."_

Ron was stunned but nodded dumbly. Lupin said he'd see him tomorrow morning. That's when Ron left. Swallowing the last of his water, Ron pulls an apple out of the fruit bowl on top of the fridge and bites into it.

There's only one person Ron can think about that he can talk to about the things rattling about in his head. He doesn't want to talk about it at all, but if he keeps going down this road, he's going to find himself a grave before he realises it.

Heading to the shower, Ron makes up his mind. He'll go see Hermione tomorrow morning. Now though, he'll wash sweat, Lavender's awful smell and spilled tequila off of his skin and then sleep. It feels like it's been ages since he's slept through the night. Ron knows that talking about his anger, his heartache, his feelings of abandonment and betrayal won't fix him. He's broken beyond repair, but just maybe he can crazy-glue the little pieces of him, those pieces that haven't been ripped out, back together. He's broken. He's frayed. So is she.

So he'll go see Hermione in the morning.

_Shit..._

:::

**AN:**** I know it's another angst-ridden chapter, but I figured I need to explain why Lupin is going to become a pretty important character in this story. I can't promise that resolutions will be quick, because that's just not how people function.**

**The quote Lupin says as Ron is leaving comes from a **_**Bob Dylan**_** song called **_**Subterranean Hometown Blues**_**. It's one of my favourites.**

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, followed and favourited. You are all blessings to my little heart. I honestly didn't expect this amount of feedback, but please keep it up! I want to hear your thoughts, opinions and ideas of where I can improve or where I cocked something up.**

_**-Dedicated to:**_

_***wandaa**_

_***gurrumaiss**_

_***my 4 guest reviewers (leave your names!)**_

_***smilelino**_

_***Belle, you little burrito you!**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this story. I merely play around with them a little. Unbeta'd so any and all errors are entirely **__**mine**__**.**_

_**Whiskey Lullaby**_

"Ron?" There's a hand on his shoulder. It keeps shaking him. He'd like to tell the owner of that hand to _fuck off,_ but he's far too pleasantly asleep to be bothered to move.

"Ron? Come on, wake up…" This time Ron does bat the hand away, cracking open one eye that he's sure is bloodshot. Harry is standing over him, that offending hand attached to his arm. It looks like it's going to shake him again. Ron musters a one-eyed glare. He feels almost too tired to care.

"What?" Ron grinds out. He can't seem to keep the exhaustion out of his voice. Ron can almost feel his eye falling shut again.

"There was a blonde with curly hair looking for you. Told her you weren't here." Harry takes a few steps back as Ron forces himself to sit up.

"What?" Ron's vision is bleary. It feels like he went a few rounds with a train. The train seems to have won this round. His left arm hurts like hell, his head is pounding and his mouth is dry.

Blinking rapidly, Ron sees Harry holding out a large glass of water, two fat aspirin between his bony fingers. It's the _Promised Land_ in tablet form.

"So who is she?" Harry asks. He's taken his jacket and shoes off, padding his sock covered feet over the plump red wood floor. He leaves Ron's bedroom door open. The smell of food beckons Ron's nostrils to further investigation.

"Who's who?" Ron asks. He's sure the expression on his face makes him look like he's some idiot, and maybe he is, but right now he has no idea who Harry is talking about.

"Slim blonde, curly blonde hair. Really short skirt and skimpy top. I swear her shirt would have split open if she pushed her chest out a little more." Harry has his back to Ron. He's stirring something on the stove. Ron bets it's soup. His stomach couldn't care less. It's food and he doesn't have to make it himself.

"What did she want?" Ron rubs at his eyes. The previous animosity between himself and Harry feels forgotten. Harry won't push Ron into saying anything about the fight they had. Harry knows not to expect anything from Ron, and Ron does what comes naturally. He ignores the fight, pretends that he can trust Harry and that life is perfect because the birds are singing and the trees are swaying. Denial and avoidance are two traits people use when describing Ron.

"Asked if she could see 'Won Won'. I nearly cracked my jaw to keep myself from laughing." Realisation slams into Ron like he's been tossed with a bag filled with bricks. Ron even takes a step back in horror. His eyes have grown to the size of saucers and his mouth resembles a fish gasping for water. Harry, it would seem, has noticed.

"Ron?" Harry has a spoon in his hand; the content of the pot has splashed onto his crisp white shirt without him noticing it.

"Fuck..." Ron whispers before exclaiming the expletive again, only this time throwing his hands into the air. _"FUCK!"_

Harry is staring at Ron. His left eyebrow is cocked in clear interest.

"I, uh..." Ron stammers. This has never been something the two men have had a problem talking about. Ron pulled; he and Harry talk about it. It stopped when Harry and Ginny got together, because- no. Not thinking about it.

"I slept with her." Ron blurts out, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes are staring a hole into the wood beneath his feet.

"You slept with her." Harry repeats slowly. Ron feels the teasing air around Harry spark and sputter alight. "Did you not see the annoying one that resides beneath the right clothes and excess make up?"

Ron doesn't say anything. Snapping his head up, he just glares at Harry instead.

"I wasn't exactly sober." Ron frowns. He sounds pathetic. Beer goggles may make the girl look like Angelina Jolie, but beer goggles never take away the awful personality that accompanies the good looks.

"I take it she didn't get the memo of what a one night stand is?" Harry grins and turns back to the stove to stir whatever it is he's making.

"I guess not." Ron runs his hand over his short cropped hair. If his hair was any longer, he'd have yanked on it. "This is just by far the worst decision of my life." Ron pulls his hand down his face. Harry's turning around again.

"And why's that?" Harry enquires.

"She uh, she works at the clinic." Ron has the good sense to look ashamed of himself. It's not exactly his fault, he was intoxicated. It's not the perfect excuse, but he'll take it.

"She works at the clinic? With _Ginny_? The clinic where _Hermione_ is?" Harry is silent for a few minutes that seem to stretch over an eternity.

"Yeah..." Ron shrugs lightly. Harry bursts out laughing loudly. He's even clutching his stomach, smearing the liquid from the spoon in his hand all over the front of his shirt. Ron grits his teeth in annoyance. Times like these he needs his best friend to tell him what to do, not laugh at him. Granted, he hasn't asked Harry for advice and it isn't like he's going to do what Harry suggests anyway.

"You're really thick sometimes, you know that right?" Ron huffs in annoyance. There's no way he's just going to stand by and let Harry insult him like this. Ron turns to go back to his room, intending to slam the door shut and fall onto his bed and regret his entire existence.

"Ron wait!" Harry calls after him. There's still a chuckle in his voice.

"Piss off Harry." Ron grumbles, but as always, Harry has the ability to make him stop in his tracks with one of his lovely revelations.

"She's dating Malfoy."

Well hell if Ron knows how to respond to that. He just stops dead in his tracks, turns to face Harry, who has turned the stove off and moved the pot off of the hot plate.

"Last Christmas party, that's when I saw them together, Ginny said that their families go back millennia's together and they basically grew up together. She's being formed into the perfect submissive wife for the wanker." Harry shrugs and pulls two bowls from the cabinet on his left.

"Shit. Why do I always attract loons?" Ron grumbles in frustration.

"I don't know Ron, but if I were you, I'd be careful around that one. She looks like a dog with a bone. And you know what Malfoy is like. He'll sack Ginny if he finds out that you gave it to his girlfriend." Harry places the two bowls, filled with what looks like vegetable soup, on the counter. He turns to rummage for spoons.

"Get the bread, will you?" Ron just nods, doing everything on autopilot.

"Fred was right. My dick is going to get me into a world of trouble someday." Harry erupts in a fit of giggles, nearly falling over.

"It's not funny!" Ron nearly shouts at Harry. There's a slight smile tugging at his lips, but he refuses to give in to the urge to laugh along with his best friend. He's supposed to feel offended right now.

"Yes it is Ron, it completely is." Ron feels blood rising from his cheeks to his ears. He'd be visible from the moon if he stood outside. Ron tosses the bread he has in his hands at Harry's head. Terrible friend that he is, doesn't allow the bread to thwack against his head, instead he catches it and grins at Ron.

"You're right. It isn't funny. It's hilarious that you seem to attract a clingy girl who is dating the son of the most powerful man in the entire UK." Harry only grins at the dirty look Ron shoots his way.

They both take two slices of bread, spreading the margarine thickly over the bread's surface. With bowls, bread and spoons in hand, they sit down on the sofa. There's a game on. Harry cheers in between mouthfuls. Ron sits and broods.

Just like old times.

Almost.

Ron wants to tell Harry about Lupin. It's gnawing at him. He wants his best friend to know what's going through his mind. He wants to tell Harry about Hermione and if he thinks that talking to her is a good idea. He doesn't. Harry seems to volunteer the information almost as if he can read Ron's mind.

"Ginny says Hermione went to see the shrink today." Harry throws out into the silence that has become everything but comfortable. Ron resists the urge to squirm in his seat.

"Oh." Ron doesn't really have anything else to say on the matter, lest he lose control and spill his guts like a teenage girl.

"Yeah. She says she might be ready to receive visitors in about two weeks." Harry doesn't look away from the TV screen.

"Harry, don't." Rob feels his annoyance grow.

"I'm just saying Ron. She's sill our friend and we should go see her once we're allowed to." At this, Ron stands up. His bowl is still half filled with soup. He has no appetite. Harry's way of turning a semi-comfortable environment back into a hostile one is amazing.

"I'm done." Ron walks away from Harry and the sofa. This is why he doesn't talk to Harry about things that matter anymore. Telling him about shagging Lavender is one thing, but being told to go visit Hermione is another. Ron feels like he's going insane. He wants to go see her, but on his own terms. Without everyone and their cat knowing about it. And he sure as hell doesn't want to be told to do anything, especially not something that is life changing.

Ron ignores Harry's call to return to the sofa. He doesn't slam the door, but he does fall onto his bed and wills his thoughts and a sinking feeling in his stomach that screams _"RUN, RUN NOW!"_ away. He just needs sleep.

For now, that's all he craves. Not clarity of thoughts or peace of mind. Just sleep. He's a simple man and these are simple times.

So Ron sleeps.

:::

She's applying dark red lipstick to her lips. Fingers caress her scalp through her curls, working the hairspray knots loose. She tosses her luscious curls over her shoulder, pulls her bra into a spot that she wants it and adjusts her breasts so that they appear to be spilling over. Those fingers pull her skirt up some more, revealing more of her milky white thigh.

She's long since abandoned her heels. He insists that she take them off at the door. He doesn't like it when someone walks on the lush carpets that adorn his living room. He's a prick like that. She really doesn't know why she is still with him, because it isn't for the money or the expensive gifts anymore. He's bought her everything she's wanted.

It isn't the sex either. He's never been particularly good at it. In the three and a half years they've been together, she can count the orgasms he's given her on one hand.

Exiting the bathroom, she sways her hips in that sultry way he likes. It's all a game. He doesn't look anything like the man she had last night. His hair is too white and his skin is too pasty.

She knows she can't keep him waiting all night, but she doesn't intend to. She has her mind set on having Ron. Malfoy is just a pawn to get her to where she wants to go, who she wants to be with.

He's sitting on his creamy sofa, wineglass in hand. A cool red liquid slips from the bowl of the glass, down his throat. The muscles in his throat work at swallowing the liquid. It doesn't look a thing like the muscles she ran her fingers over last night.

When she sits on his lap, knees next to his thighs, she pretends it's Ron. Ron kissing her; Ron taking her clothes off; Ron giving her one of the best orgasms she's had in years.

Yes, it is all a game and she's the hunter. Ron Weasley is her prey.

She likes this game already...

:::

**AN:**** Sorry for the wait for this chapter. It's really just a filler. I meant to update earlier, but it was my birthday on Wednesday and I wrote a crappy exam on Thursday. I hope you guys like it, please leave me some love.**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, but come on now! Leave me some love.**

**Mary xxx**

_**-Dedicated to:**_

_***iSage**_

_***Mary Ann**_

_***Sandrinha2**_

_***My guest reviewer**_

_***My little Burrito**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this story. I merely play around with them a little. Unbeta'd so any and all errors are entirely **__**mine**__**.**_

_**Whiskey Lullaby**_

Somehow, somewhere during the night Hermione manages to fall asleep. The shaking woke her up again a few hours ago. The shaking and the burning pain shooting through her entire body made the small electric currents running through her body yesterday feel like child's-play.

The fuzzy feeling one would get from receiving a slight shock from touching an open wire is nothing compared to the pain Hermione is in now. Words never failed her in the past, but it would seem that they're failing her now.

Hermione wants to laugh, cry, scream, _die._ All at once. She thinks back to when she was still a child, when she was still friends with Harry and Ron and Ginny and Luna and Neville and everyone she thought she'd never betray. One Christmas holiday, Ron, Harry and Hermione were at Ron's family home. They were drinking hot chocolate as quickly as Mrs. Weasley could make it. She burned her tongue while gulping down another mug full of chocolaty goodness. The pain was unbearable. Ron had spent the rest of their visit bringing her ice cubes.

Hermione would smile at the memory if she wasn't clenching her jaw as tightly as it would go. It is still dark outside. She threw up over an hour ago, meat and potatoes flushed down the drain along with her dignity. She _desperately_ needs a shower. She wants to curl up in a little ball and only wake up when the torture is over, but that just isn't the way the world works. Hermione knows she's supposed to learn some or other life lesson from this experience, but she simply can't force herself to think past the pain she's feeling right now.

Hermione wants desperately not to focus on the pain, but her brain just won't do what she wants it to do.

She can see the sun slowly creeping under the safe covers of the curtains. Hermione can feel her heart sink. She has to force herself to get up. She has to force herself to get into the shower and was the remaining vomit from her skin and hair. It's going to be another long day. Much longer than yesterday, but when it is over, she can curl back into a ball and pity herself until the need to vomit is stronger than the need to breathe.

In the past, the need for a fix would overrule all of her senses, just like it is now. She needs it like she needs food, the want and pure need is creeping up her veins like a bad itch. An itch she can't scratch anymore. Somehow the need to live became more important than the need to feel untouchable, invincible.

Somewhere between the last fix and the next fix, she began thinking about living and not just existing. Maybe it was her face breaking out into sores and acne; or her hair falling out in clumps. Or the fact that she hasn't has a decent night's sleep in over two years.

Hermione read somewhere that when a person hits rock bottom, they have nothing to live for anymore, nothing makes sense and they've lost the last few things that did. Maybe she hit rock bottom when she lost all of her friends and her parents the moment she started dating Viktor. She hit rock bottom when she was sixteen. That thought alone is frightening. _Heart-clenching terrifying._

Hermione runs to the bathroom. She needs to throw up again. Her entire body burns like she's been set fire to from the inside. Throwing up dulls the pain and disgrace, but it doesn't take the pain away for long enough. She knows the nurse will barge into her room in a few minutes. She'll be escorted to the cafeteria where she'll be forced to eat under Ginny' watchful eyes. They won't speak. They have nothing to talk about. She'll be escorted to her shrink for her session, and then taken to her room where she can cry and berate and hate herself for all of the choices and mistakes she has made.

Someone once told her never to do anything she wouldn't want to tell her mother and father about. Wouldn't they be proud of the _sad, thin, embarrassing_ piece of human disgrace she has become…

Wouldn't they just be _proud…_

:::

"Hermione?" Parker has been talking for the better part of an hour. For the first time in her life, Hermione honestly hasn't been listening to a word being spoken to her. She does the polite thing and turns her head from the window.

"Were you listening to me?" Parker enquires.

"No." There is simply no need to beat around the bush. Hermione's mother always told her that honesty is the key. Parker arches an eyebrow at her reply, but doesn't say anything. Hermione knows it is an invitation to continue, so she takes him up on his unspoken offer.

"I'm thinking about my parents today." She decides to leave it at that. No need to cry over spilt milk, is there?

"When was the last time you saw them?" Hermione knows there is no need to lie about when she last saw her parents. Parker can spot a lie a mile off.

"I last saw them three days after graduation. I went home to pack my things. I was moving in with my boyfriend and they really didn't approve. I guess they knew about him and the drugs. We had a fight. My father told me not to come back until I broke it off with Viktor…so I just never went back. It's been _seven_ years." Hermione can feel tears tease her eyes. She decided somewhere in between sitting in the cafeteria with Ginny that she has no reason to pity herself. She chose the things that lead her down the path to this moment and crying about it and feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to change the past or the present.

"I know my father has gone bald. He'd be much more salt than pepper. The laughing wrinkles around his eyes would have infected the skin surrounding his nose and neck. He probably has a potbelly too. He always did love cake..." Hermione tries to choke back the teary chuckle but fails miserably.

"My mother's hair would have started to go gray too. She's never been one of those women who wear their age on their faces. She'd have decided to grow old gracefully. To show how pretty a lady can grow old in contrast with my father's rapid aging. Her hips would have decided to put out a little more. She's always been skinny, but she never wanted to be a skinny grandmother. She always said a grandchild has to know how delicious his grandmother's cookies are by looking at her hips." Parker gives a slight chuckle.

"But I wouldn't know. I'm in rehab and my family is Lord knows where without me. They could have gotten a pet, or moved abroad, or they could have taken that holiday to Australia like they always wanted to. But I wouldn't know, because I chose my boyfriend and drugs over my own family." Hermione says bitterly, throwing the pillow cradled in her arms down onto the floor.

She wants to jump up and walk to the window. Hide her bitterness at her stupidity. To cry in seclusion. She doesn't. All the energy Hermione seemed to garner in her anger has dissipated when she threw the pillow down.

Instead she pulls her legs up to her chest, buries her head in her knees and cries. She doesn't notice the arm that encircles her shoulders, but she leans into it. Parker reminds her of Ron. He doesn't need to say anything, he's just there. A silent rock that keeps her upright. She misses Ron suddenly with such force that it makes her head hurt and her heart ache even worse.

After crying harder than she has in a few years, her sobs seem to die down. Parker doesn't leave. He doesn't say a word, he's just there.

"Hermione, would you like some cake?" Hermione can't help but laugh. It isn't forced, like so many of her other human encounters have been thus far. Her laugh is teary and snot-laced, but genuine.

"Why do you have cake in your office?" Hermione chuckles as she asks. Parker hands her a box of tissues.

"My daughter. It was her birthday yesterday. Cake is tradition when you celebrate your birthday, isn't it?" Parker teases.

"I just thought you were one of those strange people who brought cake to work." It has been so long since she's made a joke. Parker laughs and winks at her, bending down to dig through a bag hidden by his desk.

"No, I'm more of a candy and white van than cake and white van type of guy." Hermione can't help but laugh at him. It feels good to laugh.

"How old is your daughter?" Hermione asks. Parker stops shuffling things around in the phantom bag, producing a large white plastic container filled with chocolate cake.

"She would have been sixteen." Hermione tightens her arms around her legs and can only stare up at Parker.

"She died three years ago. Suicide." Parker says nonchalantly, handing Hermione a piece of cake on a plate she didn't even notice him pulling out from somewhere. The fork he hands her trembles between her fingers, a combination of shock and need for more than just cake. Her skin starts tingling again. She doesn't know when she stopped noticing the burn or the trembles.

"She was depressed for a long time. She'd tried to commit suicide many times before, but this time she succeeded. She hanged herself the shed in the backyard." Parker says, revealing the details without Hermione having to ask.

Suicide. Hermione doesn't have the words to say anything. Instead she eats the cake Parker hands her.

She's not the only one who has been through misery. Only difference is that her misery is self-induced, Parker's misery was handed to him by his daughter who killed herself.

"Why do you still work here?" Hermione snaps her mouth shut, wishing she could take the words back immediately. "I-I mean, why do you want to work here with people who don't really have anything to live for anymore." Hermione looks down at the cake in her hands. She feels like crying. Parker has only been nice to her and now she's gone and messed it up.

"Because I want to help people who want to help themselves. That's why this clinic works on a system based on self-admission. You want to get help don't you? My daughter didn't, or couldn't. I'm not meant to understand why she did what she did. I'll always wonder, but I know that wherever she is, she feels like she could belong there." Parker pops another piece of cake into his mouth. She acts nonchalant, like it doesn't faze him at all. Appearances don't really show what the inside holds.

"I know what it's like to miss someone and hate yourself for not being able to talk to that person." Parker's voice breaks through Hermione's thoughts.

"It's different." Hermione retorts, eyes staring holes into the icing on the cake.

"Is it really?" Parker asks, putting his plate down on the side table next to his chair. "I can't fix the mistakes I made with my daughter, but I can make sure I don't make the same mistakes with my other two children. You can't fix the choices you made when you were under the influence of drugs, but you can stop yourself from doing it again and to other people." Parker says and leans back.

"You get a second chance Hermione, isn't that what you wanted?" Hermione can't help but stare at Parker.

"I don't know..." She whispers. "I don't know what to do. I don't know if they'll want to see me again. How do you say sorry for seven years worth of worry and agony?" Hermione wipes angrily at her cheeks, traitorous tears having escaped her eyes once again.

"You'll never know until you try, right?" Parker clears his throat. Their session is over. The nurse will be in, in a minute to take her to her room. She'll crawl into a little ball and pray her pain away until she falls asleep, only to wake up and run for the bathroom again.

Something tells Hermione that this is going to be her routine for the time she's going to be here. Routines are nice. She used to like routines. She lived for routines, until she started liking heroine and living for it instead of living for herself.

Parker offers her medication again to take some of the pain away. Again, Hermione refuses. She doesn't know why, but on day two of her sudden turnaround, she has an inkling of what she's going to do when she gets out.

Somehow she'll make it right. She just has to.

:::

**AN:**** I know it has been a bit of a wait for this chapter, but here it is. I really wanted to build more on Hermione's thoughts and her therapy. The next chapter will be a doozie. There are going to be some things that'll happen which I don't want to be hated for. Promise you won't hate me?**

**Thank you so much for all the belated birthday wishes from you guys.**

**-**_**Dedicated to:**_

_***Mary Ann**_

_***My two guest reviewers**_

_***gurumaiss**_

_***My lil Burrito**_

_**Please don't be a silent reader. Review and let me know what you guys think! **_

**P.S. I'm working over my December vacation, so if I lag a little with the updates, feel free to kick me into gear to update again, okay?**


	10. Chapter 10

_**I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this story. I merely play around with them a little. Unbeta'd so any and all errors are entirely **__**mine**__**.**_

_**Whiskey Lullaby**_

The week had gone by surprisingly quickly. Hermione and Parker spent their time talking about trivial things, like how her tremors were affecting her; if she wishes they would stop soon, normal stuff that therapist and patient would never discuss.

Hermione spent the weekend holed up in her room. She had a short session with Parker on Saturday, but not on Sunday. He needs time off too, right?

Going through her normal routine this morning again, Hermione found herself escorted to Parker's office as usual. This morning though, Parker barely even acknowledges her existence, instead opting to write in a thick black notebook.

Hermione wanders over to the wall opposite Parker's chair. A long coffee table is propped up against the wall, a mountain of psychology magazines building a tower to the heavens on top of the fragile looking glass.

They remain silent for a long time, before Parker suddenly speaks.

"Tell me about Viktor." Hermione snaps her head up from the coffee table where she's been studying the psychology magazines for over a half hour now.

"Why?" Hermione suddenly feels defensive, like Parker only wants to know every deepest darkest secret about her, so he can laugh about her issues with his colleagues. Hermione knows she's being paranoid, but silliness and pure terror about the subject has welded her jaws together.

"Because it all started with him, didn't it Hermione?" Parker has a notebook in his lap. He's been writing in it nonstop, something that scares Hermione even more. Whatever he writes will determine if she gets out of here in three months.

The last week has gone by surprisingly quickly, because of this exact reason. They didnt discuss anything of this sort, opting mostly to stay away from touchy subjects. Hermione prides herself with the idea that she only woke the entire floor up two or three times. The nurses wanted to give her a sedative, but she refused. So instead they tied her down on the bed and made someone sit with her for the rest of the night. She's thrown up everything she's eaten this week. Sometimes it would play hide and seek and she would be fine the whole day, and like a thief in the night, it would jump out of nowhere. More than once the nurses pushed her into the shower to wash the dried vomit from her hair.

"I don't want to talk about him." Hermione says bitterly, turning from the coffee table and magazines.

"Is it because of what he made you do?" Hermione stops mid stride. She wants to stand by the window, stare out onto the beautiful green grass they still have, while tuning out Parker's voice, but instead she sinks down on the sofa.

"I've seen the reports Hermione." Parker adds in a quiet voice, more of a whisper. It's like he's afraid she'll break apart like a glass figurine embracing the floor.

"You don't know anything about me or Viktor." Hermione suddenly says, wiping away at angry tears that spring to her eyes at the mere mention of Viktor.

"You're right, I don't. Tell me then." Parker is pushy today, like he wants to see what Hermione has hidden away within herself.

"Do you want to know about us or the report?" Hermione grits her teeth at the amount of contempt in her voice.

"Which would you prefer sharing?" The illusion Parker creates of choice is astounding. Hermione knows she has to tell him about everything some time or other, but she doesn't want to. Viktor wasn't all bad, not like people made him out to be.

"We got into an argument. Our dealer was at the apartment and Viktor couldn't pay him. We had the money; I just don't know what he did with it. Tom said if Viktor didn't pay him, he'd break his legs, so Viktor devised another plan." Hermione trails off, absentmindedly running her hand over her cheek. Her fingers brush the scar over her temple.

"Viktor suggested that Tom should have sex with me to pay off what we still owed for the drugs. I got mad and said that I'm not a whore, so Viktor hit me. I hit my head against the wall. It's where the scar comes from. Luckily Tom pulled Viktor away and knocked him out, before taking me to the hospital." Hermione lets out a pitiful laugh.

"Funny how your dealer takes you to get stitched up, huh?" Hermione hates how pitiful she sounds. Parker doesn't look up from his notebook. He's still scribbling nonstop.

"What happened?" Parker asks.

"Tom took me to the hospital and got me stitched up. The hospital is forced to take a report any violence like that, especially if it looks like domestic abuse. I lied, told them I got mugged and that Tom helped me out." Hermione shrugs as if none of it even matters.

"And Viktor?" Parker sounds just as nonchalant as Hermione feels about the entire situation.

"When I got home he was on the sofa, a bag of carrots on his face. We didn't talk at all. The next day he said he was sorry and it was the end of it."

"Was it the first time he wanted you to trade sexual favours for drugs?" Parker finally looks up. There's something in the way he talks that gives Hermione goosebumps, the way her father used to when she knew he was on the verge of scolding her.

"Yes. And before you feel the need to ask, it was the first and last time." Hermione feels only slightly guilty lying to Parker. He doesn't need to know that Viktor planned on making her whore herself out when his family cut him off. They'd found out about the drugs and they cut him off. They figured that leaving him penniless would make Viktor see the error in his ways and get help.

It had the opposite effect. Viktor became agitated, hitting her more than once. Hermione supposes it's what she deserves for believing the age old lie of _"I won't do it again..."_ He did it so many times that Hermione is surprised that she's still breathing. It isn't something that she likes thinking about. Hermione prefers remembering the Viktor she first met, the one who was full of compliments and teasing hugs or stolen kisses. The way she used to remember Ron.

_No._

"What made you leave then?" Parker challenges, like he knows she's lying.

"I got tired. I already told you." Hermione stares down at her hands, scared that if she looks up that Parker will give her that look her father and Ron had in common, the one that says _"I know you're lying to me..."_

"I know. Tell me again." Parker says.

"I don't want to be another statistic. I don't want to throw my life away..."

"Why are you lying, Hermione?" Parker says immediately after Hermione closes her mouth.

She feels like she's stuck. Parker knows she's lying. She doesn't want to tell him the truth. It hurts too much.

"I'm not lying." She half-heartedly defends.

"See, I think you are. When a person lies, there is this sense of 'please believe me' that lingers around a person. I know you're lying, because you have the same tell. You see, I think that Viktor wanted you to sell your body so that the money could be used to buy drugs. Am I wrong, Hermione?"

"You're insane!" Hermione says loudly.

"Then tell me why you left." Parker doesn't let up. Tears are springing to her eyes again.

"BECAUSE I'M NOT A WHORE! I DON'T WANT THE POLICE CALLING MY PARENTS AND TELL THEM THAT I HAD MY THROAT SLIT OR OVERDOSED WHILE SELLING MY ARSE TO THE MAN WITH THE MOST MONEY!" Hermione has no idea what has just come over her. She has never in her life yelled at someone like this, well, she did yell at Ron a lot.

The tears started to run freely. Hermione can't stop them even if she tried. Somehow, without noticing, she'd gotten to her feet and was standing over Parker while screaming at him. She sat back down on the sofa, bushy hair falling over her face as she cries into her knees. Parker doesn't get up to comfort her this time. She needs to cry by herself, to be alone and wallow in her own sorrow.

Viktor had been quiet since Tom had taken her to the hospital. They barely talked for over a week. He'd gotten the call from his father about his trust fund, which he was being cut off of, until he got his act together. They still had some cash on them when the call was answered, so for a week and a little bit, they were okay. Until the dope ran out.

Viktor still beat the shit out of her every now and then, so when the suggestion of prostitution came about, Hermione wasn't as shocked as she should have been. She knew it was coming. Neither of them had jobs, the drugs having taken over their lives entirely. There was no time to work. The urge would be too strong and resisting temptation was basically impossible.

She left three days later and came here. Parker would never understand. It is too soon, the wound is still open. The bleeding has only just stopped, so poking and prodding at the still painful emotions is not helping her. Their sessions will most likely become nonexistent because talking hurts too much. Everything with Viktor is at the forefront of her mind, the thoughts of seeing Ron still mad at her is there. The hate Viktor had for Ron and her love for him, the love that never seemed to go away like she had hoped it would.

"Nothing is ever as it seems Hermione." Parker says, pulling her from her thoughts.

"It never is and it never will be. You don't know me, and you never will." Hermione bites back. "Just because it is apparent that my ex-boyfriend hurt me, abused me and had me strung up on him and drugs like my life depended on it, doesn't mean you know me."

"I never said I know you. I want to know what happened to you so that I can help you. That's all. I can't help you if you don't let me." Parker says. After a few minutes of silence, he clears his throat. The little light on the wall signalling the duration of the session has gone off. Their session is over. The nurse is outside, waiting for her.

"Don't protect what isn't good for you Hermione." Parker says, rising from his chair. His notebook is closed, his black pen on top of it. The door opens and a nameless nurse enters. She seems annoyed that she should be waiting for a drug head. Most nurses in this place seem like right proper bitches.

"I'm not protecting _anyone_ but _myself_." Hermione says as she stands, walking out of the door with the nurse behind her. It's like they're terrified of leaving her alone, as if she is going to pull heroine from somewhere, lock herself in a bathroom and shoot up with whatever is at hand.

If she was a nurse here, she wouldn't trust herself either. She'd be on the inmates (Hermione has come to the conclusion that they really aren't patients at all, but in fact they are inmates waiting to be slaughtered) like a hawk on a fresh carcass. It makes sense, doesn't it?

The nurse is leading her down the corridor to her room. She has a hand on her arm, leading Hermione to where she wants her to go. The nurse doesn't speak, just pushes and pulls Hermione where she needs to go. Hermione doesn't really mind though. She'd get lost in this place. Her mind is everywhere but here right now.

Viktor was her sunlight, her life. The second love of her life, what some people would call her great love. He was good to her. He was bad to her. For every punch, slap, scar, cut, bruise, the drugs, the near prostitution, there had been hugs and kisses and candlelight dinners, sweet nights spent in the dorms back at University, you name it.

Some people really do think that the good always outweighs the bad. That's the way Hermione used to be. A silver lining kind of girl. Somehow the bad had gotten too much with Viktor and she lost sight of why they were together. The drugs had taken all of it away from her, from him, from their friends and families.

Hermione rubs her arms, feeling suddenly cold. She spots the snippy little nurse Brown, a venomous sneer sent her way. This girl seems to hate Hermione for some or other reason. Hermione can't bring herself to care. The pain is too much right now; her veins are burning like someone set fire to her.

Ginny told her this morning that she should always look at the silver lining, something she learnt from Hermione. Right now though, the silver lining is pretty much invisible. She needs that silver lining she used to believe in, she needs it so much right now.

:::

Ron likes to think of himself as a respectable young man. Granted, he is quite rude most of the time, but that just adds to his charm. Or so he's been told.

Somehow Lavender has gotten hold of his mobile number and has been ringing him constantly. The texts were strange, but they've gotten a tad worse. Well, not exactly a tad, more like alien invasion worse.

She's gone from 'thanks for the best sex of my life' to dirty pictures. Not the same old expected flash of a breast, no. This insane woman seems intent on either killing Ron with shame or making him want to throttle her right where she stands, whether it be at her apartment or in front of Ginny at the clinic. Ginny would be mad at him, but once she could visit him in prison, she'd forgive him again. The array of dirty, fleshy pictures are erased within seconds of receiving them. There is no way Ron wants anything to do with Lavender. It was a mistake, a drunken one. Now all Ron needs to do is tell her that, after he avoids her for a little while.

Ron told Lupin about Lavender and the insanity she's been inflicting on him. Lupin just laughed, and laughed and laughed some more. Ron seriously thinks the pale old man was going to keel over.

He shook his head and grinned at Ron. No words were exchanged. Not like Ron needed anyone else to tell him that what he did was idiotic. Which is why he's been avoiding Harry too for little under a week.

Ron spent his time going to the gym, talking to Lupin, avoiding Harry and occasionally avoiding Ginny. He knows he has to talk to them eventually, but right now, he just prefers being alone, revelling in the idea of spending time by himself so that he can sort out his jumbled mind.

It worked wonderfully, until this morning. Until Snape called. He wants to see Ron at 11:30 in his office.

The hatred Ron has for Snape is so large, that he'd be able to write a million books about it. Snape is Ron's platoon Commander. Since the start of his military career, Ron has been serving under Snape.

The man is a bloodhound. Sure, he's good at what he does, but that doesn't mean he's anything close to a decent human being. The man is the devil reincarnated. Every single one of his soldiers hate him. They respect him, but they hate him just as equally.

Three minutes and fifteen seconds after receiving the dreaded call, Ron snuck out of his room for a shower and breakfast, retreating back to his room to pull his uniform on. The possibility that Harry might be at home is too great a risk for Ron to bear.

Running a hand over his head, Ron muses that he needs a haircut. Snape is going to ream him about his longer than usual hair, but it isn't like he'd known that Snape wants to see him

Speak of the devil and he slams his office door behind him like there is a hellhound on his tail. Ron snaps around, immediately saluting Snape. Satan himself just nods.

"Sit down, Weasley." His voice sounds like oil filling up a person's throat, killing them slowly with the nasal sound. Ron complies and sits down. His back is ramrod stiff and his arms are folded in his lap.

"I have been informed that you are refusing to see a psychologist." Snape states, flicking through a file on his desk.

"Yes sir." Ron doesn't exactly know what to say to Snape. The reason behind this entire meeting is confusing as hell. Snape hates him and tells him that quite often. Ron highly doubts that this is a social call.

"You are not given a choice Weasley. It is an order. You will undergo your mandatory psychiatric evaluation before I let you near my platoon or a weapon." Snape still hasn't looked up. He's still flipping through that damn file. Ron wants to jump up and slam Snape's head into the table. A bit violent, but that's just the sort of reaction Snape pulls out of Ron and every other soldier under his direct command.

"In total fairness, sir, I do not need to see a psychiatrist." At this though, Snape slams the file shut. Ron doesn't flinch.

"Do not try this pigs dung with me Weasley. Your convoy was blown up. You nearly lost your arm trying to save three men. How the brass up top still want you around, I will never know, but without proper help you are a liability to yourself and everyone around you." Snape's black beady little eyes are staring at him.

Ron hates to admit it, but the devil child has a point. The possibility of losing his mind is right there with him. The nightmares are a constant reminder of what happened to him. Their faces are seared into his brain.

The thought of leaving the military flashes across his mind. He could go see his mum and dad. Mum would make pumpkin pie for him and they could talk about the years they've lost.

Just as suddenly as the thought appears, Ron yanks it from his mind.

_No._

"Yes sir. I will report for my mandatory session first thing in the morning." Ron says automatically.

He has no desire to crush his career. Then he'll have nothing left, nothing of Fred or of himself to cling to anymore. He'll be lost, completely and utterly lost. His career is the only thing that keeps him sane, apart from the memories that drive him insane.

"Dismissed." Snape practically growls. Ron nods, stands and walks from the office, down the hall to find the local loony doctor. He makes an appointment and leaves the base as quickly as possible.

Ron drives back to the apartment and changes into his civvies. He needs to talk to Lupin. Lupin will know what to do, right? The thought that keeps running through his mind is what if Lupin doesn't know what to do? What does Ron do when the man of few words can't tell him what he needs to hear, that he's not insane and that seeing a shrink is a stupid idea?

When Ron gets to the gym, Lupin is sitting on one of those metal fold out chairs beside the boxing ring. Two men are beating the living daylights out of each other. Lupin watches them with what Ron can only explain as morbid fascination, almost as if the idea of inflicting mindless violence onto someone else disgusts him to the core.

Lupin points to the chair next to him and Ron sinks down onto it. His mind is in a daze.

"Snape told me to see a shrink or I won't be let back in." Ron blurts out. "He says I'm a liability."

Lupin doesn't turn from the sad scene playing itself out in front of them. Ron is staring at his feet, every few seconds glancing up at the spectacle in the ring.

"Are you?" Lupin asks, cocking his head to the side.

"No of course not!" Ron says in a huff.

"What about the anxiety? The explosive emotions and the nightmares?" Ron turns and stares at Lupin. He sure as hell did not tell him anything about his near panic attacks or nightmares. Lupin already knows about the temper explosions because Ron freaked out on him just last week.

"You're not the only one Ron. PTSD is common amongst soldiers who go through traumatic experiences." A little bit of blood hits the floor of the ring. It spurs the two boxers on, beating one another even harder.

Ron knows he's not the only one suffering through this, but how do you talk about it? He's a military man. He doesn't break down and talk about his emotions. He grits his teeth and suffers through them, like he's supposed to.

"You need help Ron. You can't do this alone." Lupin says, finally turning and looking at Ron.

"Am I really a liability?" Lupin sighs and looks back at the ring. The two men inside it are panting and bloody.

"The question you should rather be asking yourself, is how can you fix it when you don't know what is broken?" Ron stares at Lupin, feeling suddenly like an idiot.

"You wouldn't have come to see me if there wasn't something bothering you Ron. It may be your family situation, your mind or your career, but something is definitely wrong. Playing possum and pretending it doesn't exist doesn't make it go away. Trust me, I've been there."

Ron feels astounded that Lupin has spoken so many words. Words that make sense at that too.

"We're not taught to suffer from anything. We're strong, ruthless. How can I be that man and be told that I need to share my feelings with someone?" Ron can feel his ears start to turn pink.

"That's the way life works. You don't talk about your emotions and your wife or girlfriend gets angry, but your boss is happy. When you need to talk about it, people need to make sure that you're sane enough before they invest anything in you." Lupin replies.

"There's nothing wrong with me." Ron huffs.

"I know that, but they don't. You can hide it for as long as you want, but at some time or another it is going to come out and then you'll lose a whole lot more than just your career."

Ron feels himself nod. There really isn't anything he can say to that.

"I've made an appointment for tomorrow morning."

"I know." Ron can see Lupin smile slightly.

"You do?"

"I've still got those friends, remember?"

"But I made it less than twenty minutes ago." Ron says, astonishment bleeding into his tone.

"I know that too." Lupin cracks a wider smile, causing Ron to laugh.

The feeling of someone caring had been taken from him long ago. It feels nice to know that someone cares, granted it is someone Ron doesn't really know, but it's still _someone._

:::

**AN: We've finally reached chapter ten! Something you guys never imagined, right? Yeah, makes two of us. I really do hope you guys like this chapter, a little mixture of Ron and Hermione's POV.**

**Both Ron and Hermione are making a little progress in realising that they need help. Sometimes it is easy to think you can do everything alone, but they need help with this, right?**

**Leave me some love. I know you're reading! Can we make it to 65 reviews for this one? It'll make me update faster!**

**I'm the queen of constant updates right now :P**

_**-Dedicated to:**_

_***grace083**_

_***gurrumaiss**_

_***my little Burrito**_

_***smilelino**_

_***Liz**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this story. I merely play around with them a little. Unbeta'd so any and all errors are entirely **__**mine**__**.**_

_**Whiskey Lullaby**_

Hermione sits quietly with Ginny in the cafeteria. Ginny is leaning back in the uncomfortable plastic chair and staring at her hands as Hermione tries to force fruit and yogurt down her throat.

"Do you miss it?" Ginny blurts. Hermione snaps her head up to look at Ginny, who doesn't take her eyes off of her hands.

"Miss what?" Hermione asks.

"School, life before all of this happened to all of us." Ginny says softly. Hermione forces herself to chew and swallow a piece of pineapple. She should have known that a conversation along the lines of this would shit on her head.

"I-I guess." Hermione replies, looking down at the strawberry yogurt. Her stomach churns in nausea.

"I hated you, you know?" Ginny says. Her voice is soft, scarily gentle. No trace of said hatred or pain can be found. Hermione feels her brow furrow in confusion.

"I-what?" Hermione says dumbly.

"I hated you for throwing it all away, for having it all and not appreciating it. You were my first real friend and you just left. I get that it isn't completely all on you, but for a really long time I blamed you for everything." Ginny keeps her eyes trained on her hands.

"I wanted you to be there when Harry and I got together, when Fred died and every stupid thing that tore us all apart, I wanted you there and I hated myself for it, then I just hated you more for not being there in the first place." Ginny sniffs and Hermione automatically reaches her hand out, wrapping her pale shaking fingers over Ginny's arm.

"Now I want to hate you all over again because my brother won't see me, because as usual I let my emotions get the better of me and I took it out on him. I didn't see things from his perspective, because it was our chance, you know? Our chance to bring our family back together and he doesn't want it. I want to hate you because you're here and he's not because I can't keep my stupid mouth shut. I can't blame you anymore and it sucks." Ginny huffs out a tearful laugh. Hermione squeezes her arm and smiles.

"I'd have blamed and hated me too if I were you." Hermione whispers. She knows Ginny heard her. There's a hand on hers, squeezing. Lending a little amount of comfort in this oddly timed yet perfectly placed conversation between the two of them.

"I had no right. You weren't to blame for everything." Ginny says again. "I-I just needed you, you know? It feels like a stupid second chance because you're here now." Ginny reaches up and rubs at her eyes.

"I'm here now." Hermione repeats. A silent promise. _'I'm here now...'_

"Everything feels like its falling apart. The more we try to save our cardboard castle, the more tape we wrap around it, it's already soaked and the crumble is inevitable." Ginny looks up and Hermione meets her eyes. She looks haggard, like she hasn't slept in days and days.

"I don't want to live this way anymore." Ginny whispers. Hermione nods. She understands where Ginny is coming from. "I can't." She says.

"I'm pregnant." Ginny whispers. Hermione's eyes do not bulge, because this isn't what friends do. They've reached a stalemate, a do-over. The words feel like cotton in her ears, blocking out the noise from the cafeteria. She's pregnant.

_Pregnant. _

:::

"I remember the day I moved out-" Hermione says clearly. "My mum was crying and my dad wasn't saying anything." Shifting on the sofa, Hermione locates a thing hairline crack running along the ceiling. The pillows Hermione always clutches whenever she has a session with Parker is propping her head up, knees pushed between the back of the sofa and the rest of her body.

Hermione feels exhausted. She doesn't need to look at her reflection to know that her skin is pale and her eyes are red rimmed, framed by dark circles under her eyes. Today she looks like the junkie she always hated. She looks like the junkie little miss priss nurse Brown glares and sneers at whenever Hermione passes her.

Hermione digs her fingers into her forearm, pressing little half moons into her arm when a tremor runs along her spine.

"Why was your mother crying?" Parker asks. Hermione feels her jaw locking tightly, smothering the whimper that wants to escape.

"She-"Hermione feels her breath hitch, but continues "she didn't want me to leave. I stayed in the dorms at University, but I went home as much as I could. After graduation Viktor and I went to pick up my things."

"Are you sure that's why she was crying?" Parker prods.

"Well no, I just figured she didn't want me to leave, but I guess now…well she must have known what I was getting into, even if I didn't. Parents want to save their children from drug and alcohol abuse, right?" Hermione can hear Parker shift slightly.

"Guess my parents didn't try hard enough." Hermione says bitterly.

"Do you blame them Hermione?" Feeling her eyes slip shut, Hermione shakes her head.

"No, no one is to blame but myself. I could have said no and none of this would have happened. Life lesson learned." Hermione replies sarcastically.

"I just- I wish they'd tried harder to keep me around, to keep me away from Viktor. I know they let me make my own decisions, but I don't know…" Hermione turns her head away from the crack she's been staring at, pushing her face into the pillow beneath her head. She can feel the cool fabric of the sofa pressing against her nose.

"Do you think they didn't try at all?" Parker is getting on her nerves.

"I'm saying they didn't try hard enough." Hermione bites back immediately. She can almost feel Parker's eyebrow rise slowly as he contemplates Hermione's reply.

"How many friends did you lose when you and Viktor started dating back in high school?" Parker asks. Hermione feels a frown imbedding itself in her forehead.

"How is this relevant right now?"

"Answer the question."

"I don't know…a few at first. We were always around each other and they got really annoyed, so some of them broke off our friendship." Ron doesn't count here, she adds mentally. She burned that bridge with petrol and firecrackers.

"Always?" Parker asks.

"Yes, all the time."

"How much time did you spend with just your friends?" Hermione can feel her frown deepening. Parker seems to be on repeat today.

"Not a whole lot." She replies. "What is with you today? You keep asking the same questions over and over again." Hermione turns her head, finally looking at Parker. He's staring out of the window.

"How much time did you spend with you parents?" He asks.

"I don't remember. Not a lot." Hermione turns her head back to the ceiling, searching for that little crack.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe they never gave up, never stopped trying? Maybe you just never saw any of it."

"I'd have seen it if they tried, alright?" Hermione replies. She digs her fingers into her arms again. Her skin is on fire again.

"Would you really have seen it? You were so absorbed in Viktor that you don't even remember how many friends you lost because you were so caught up in him." Parker shifts in his chair.

"I wouldn't have seen it, but that's beside-" Hermione clenches her jaw shut. She can feel the soft skin surrounding her jaw clench, squeezing it smaller and smaller with the pressure.

"Do you get it Hermione?" Parker asks softly.

Her eyes are stinging. Hermione blinks furiously to get rid of the tears that want to slip from her eyes like traitorous venom from her soul. Parker is right. She was absorbed in Viktor, completely overwhelmed by him.

"I was a scrawny teenager. My arms were too long, my teeth were too big and I had too much hair. I excelled in all my subjects and I managed to have a lot of friends, despite my obvious flaws. I was in love with someone who would never feel the same way and then Viktor comes along. He called me beautiful and treated me like there was no scrawny part of me. I fell into existence with him. He became my everything and no, I didn't notice the friends I lost because I had Viktor and that was okay. It was everything I needed. No one understood…"

Hermione trails off and presses her knees together. Another wave of electric pain makes its way down her spine, lodging itself in her hips and knees.

"No one understood…" She whispers again. There's an immediate knock on the door. Neither Hermione nor Parker move. They've reached a stalemate it would appear. There's another knock on the door.

"One moment." Parker calls out. He's looking at Hermione now; his eyes are drilling holes into the side of her head.

"You'll be starting with group therapy tomorrow." Parker informs her. Hermione doesn't say a word, doesn't even nod. She stands, wraps her arms around her waist and walks out of the door. She knows that her usual nurse is waiting behind the door of Parkers office.

Her mind is blank.

_Numb. _

:::

Ron shakes his head; he's been staring at the wall for an hour now. He doesn't need to look at his phone to know that it is a little after nine in the morning. He heard Harry moving around and the door close behind him as he headed to work. Very proper and middle class of him.

His phone is buzzing on the bed. Somehow he managed to stuff it under his pillow last night when he fell asleep. Lavender has been peppering him with texts again. No photos this time, _thank fuck._

His phone goes quiet. Two minutes later it starts buzzing again. Ron couldn't be bothered to answer it. He should get up anyway. His appointment is in little under two hours. His appointment with a shrink that will tell him everything his poor demented mind already knows.

His phone has stopped buzzing again, only to start buzzing again immediately. Growling, Ron stuffs his hand under the pillow and digs around for the offending piece of technology. He doesn't look at the caller ID and practically barks into the poor phone.

"What?"

"Is that any way to greet your brother, you little shit head?"

"George?" Fuck.

"Yes brother of mine. Why do you only answer the phone on the third try?" George inquires. He sounds calm and collected. He's not frazzled by the call as Ron is, which is strange in itself seeing as Ron and George haven't spoken in weeks.

"I-" Ron stammers "It thought you were mum." Ron wants to slap himself. Bringing up their mum has never been a good omen for any conversation they were going to have. Ron feels bile force its way up his throat.

"Ah yes, I heard about your little tiff with dad. Well played, even if I have to say so myself." George sounds incredibly cocky. Ron can almost swear that George has a grin on his face.

"What do you want George." Ron grinds out, while repeating the mantra of _'Don't rise to the bait, don't rise to the bait'_, over and over again.

"I need to see you little brother. How does tonight sound?"

"I-uh-" Ron stammers again.

"Don't worry, we'll keep it in a public place, seeing as your reluctance to see me means you're afraid that we'll start up a screaming match. That pub down the block from your place at seven, yeah?"

"Yeah." Ron agrees lamely.

"Great. Superb. Later little brother." George says by way of greeting and hangs up.

Something is seriously wrong. Their conversations have never been so one-sided or chirpy. Ron forces himself up and runs a hand down his face.

Time to get this show on the road.

:::

**AN: Hey guys, sorry. Writers block kicked my ass. I've been staring at this chapter for a few weeks now and I'm still not happy with it, but if I don't get it out now, you'll be stuck waiting another half year for an update.**

**Oh yeah, I'm taking a few creative liberties regarding certain things. Hope that is okay with everyone...**

**Merry Christmas (to those who celebrate it) and Happy New Year to you all. Lemme know what you think about this one.**

_**Dedicated to:**_

_***Mary Ann**_

_***iSage**_

_***hprbdfan**_

_***Sandrinha2**_

_***My lil Burrito**_

_***gurrumaiss**_

_***Eva**_

_***celticscorpion**_

_***Rosalind**_

_***TenderHooligan**_

_***grace083**_

_***My guest reviewer**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this story. I merely play around with them a little. Unbeta'd so any and all errors are entirely **__**mine**__**.**_

_**Whiskey Lullaby**_

Ron chews on his fingernail, slotting his teeth over what little is left of the nail on his right index finger and nibbles on it like it is his last meal. He's sitting in a small office; a dull beige colour covers the walls. The walls are bare, except for the degree of the head doctor he's waiting on. The nice lady behind a small overflowing desk told him to wait in here. The good man who is going to fuck with his mind just stepped out for a few minutes.

Ron doesn't ask, he doesn't even complain. He just sits and chews on his nails like a little fifteen year old girl waiting for her crush to come pick her up on their first date. He'd laugh, but it would be frowned upon if he just randomly bursts out in giggles. It strikes Ron that he's nervous, more nervous than apprehensive. That should deserve a giggle, even if it is just a small one, but Ron chews on his nail harder, lest he burst out in giggles. It's _really_ frowned upon to giggle in a situation like this.

Finally, _finally_, the door behind him opens and an old man enters the room. He's dressed in his uniform, _as is proper,_ as is Ron. He has an ugly yellow folder in his hand. Ron is sure that it is his medical file from the accident, the one the nice German nurse had opened for him when he was flown to one of their medical treatment facilities after he nearly tore his arm off.

Ron stands, but before he can bid a greeting, he is waved off.

"Sit down. We don't need any formalities in here."

Ron nods, sitting down again. The old man, _Osborne_, Ron notes off of the plaque thing on his desk, sits down behind said desk and plops the ugly _yellow _file down on top of the ugly metal desk.

"I know you don't want to be here, no one ever wants to be here, so let's get to it. You want to go back to active duty, which has been approved, only if we get you past your mandatory therapy. Until then, you and I will see each other every day, at the same time until I can declare to the big boys that you're fit for duty. Okay?"

Ron just nods again.

"Right, so tell me about your accident." Osborne says and Ron looks down at his arm. The jagged scar is pink and puckered, starting at the base of his hand, zigzagging angrily up his forearm, down the inside of his elbow and disappears under the sleeve of his uniform shirt. He already knows that the puckered skin stretches up on the inside of his arm, over to the outside of his arm, up and over his shoulder, stopping abruptly after it curls around his shoulder under his armpit, stopping a few centimetres from the bend of the scar.

"I don't exactly remember the details. We were looking for some locals who had ties with someone in some cell that had been deemed a threat." Osborne nods; he knows Ron can't say more than that.

"We, uh...we received some information about someone who belongs to the cell we were tracking. Apparently he was in a compound and we went to check it out and retrieve him if he was there. It was a trap, as soon as we stepped inside, something dropped and everything blew up. I was on my back; something heavy was on my arm. I could feel blood running between my fingers. I had to get out of there, to I pushed and pulled and ripped my arm up pretty nicely. Jack wasn't moving and I had to get to him, so make sure that he was okay. He wasn't, there was so much blood and-" Ron cuts off and clears his throat.

"He was right next to the explosive device. Half of his chest was gone. He died instantly. I dragged him out of there when someone sent another team after us. Myself and one other guy from the team, we were the only ones who survived. I have an ugly scar on my arm, he lost a leg and the others lost their lives." Ron clears his throat again. He doesn't like talking about the accident.

He tells Osborne everything because if he doesn't, he'll never be declared fit for duty again. He feels a pang of guilt. He hasn't even told Harry or Ginny about the nightmares he has about the accident, hasn't even told them about what happened at all.

"Do you feel guilty about what happened?" Osborne asks. Ron wants to scoff.

"Yes. They didn't deserve to die, especially not the way that they did." Ron answers truthfully.

"Understandable." Osborne says. He's scribbling something on a white notepad; most likely writing something like _this guy is insane!_

Maybe he is insane, Ron doesn't know. Insane would be his best bet too.

:::

Ron walks into the gym. He's tired, physically and emotionally and no, he doesn't want to talk about it. Lupin is standing behind the boxing ring _(square technically, but who is checking, right?)_, mop in hand.

"You're very domestic." Ron says conversationally. Lupin laughs but doesn't look up from the task at hand, he just keeps mopping.

"Yes, I am. My ex would be so proud." Ron grins. It's the first time Lupin has brought his ex up, even conversationally where no one brings up painful memories.

"What are you mopping up anyway?" Ron asks.

"Some boys had a bit of a scuffle in the ring. Guy fell out and bled all over the floor."

"You always see the best entertainment around here." Lupin laughs again.

"How was your appointment?" Lupin asks immediately. No pussy-footing around.

"Shitty." Lupin motions toward the bag Ron beat up last week.

"Wanna go a few rounds with something that can't punch back?"

"That almost sounds like a marriage proposal." Ron comments. Lupin only grins.

"I promise the bag will only love you." Ron cracks an honest to God smile.

"Yeah, I'd like that." Lupin nods.

"Go on ahead; I need to put this away first." He motions to the mop in his hand.

Ron walks the few feet toward the bench he sat on last week, plopping down and pulling the gloves out from their stashed place between his legs. Lupin appears out of nowhere and pulls the gloves from between Ron's fingers and helps him put them on.

"George called me this morning." Ron mutters, looking at his feet.

"And?"

"He wants to see me tonight."

"Do you want to see him tonight?" Lupin asks. Ron feels his head shaking before he can even register what is happening.

"I don't know. It's been a while since we've seen each other. He has his own issues to deal with and I don't want to pile my many issues onto his."

"Makes sense." Lupin replies. Ron looks up at him and frowns.

"What are you hiding old man?" Ron asks, squinting up at Lupin.

"He was here. Asked about you. I told him to find out for himself." Lupin shrugs.

"Yeah, thanks. I think."

"He's still your brother. Even if it feels strange in the beginning, give it a shot. You'd be surprised how much he loves you."

"Don't go all soft on me old man." Ron teases and Lupin laughs again, pulling his gloved hands up and checking that they are both tied expertly.

"Start punching that bag before we both grow vaginas." Lupin mocks. Ron laughs and nods.

"Yes sir."

So he does. He punches the bag until both his arms tingle more than usual, until the memories of bygone days fade slightly and the terror of seeing his brother fades away like it is supposed to.

:::

On page 1566 of Hermione's dictionary, the one she bought a week before classes started, the word therapy is defined as _the treatment of physical, mental or social disorders or disease_. It's a small word, with big implications.

She's standing in the shower, the water drizzles over her head, matting her hair with the liquid confidence it needs to become springy and curly and fuzzy. Hermione doesn't wiggle her toes in the water streaming down her legs to swirl around the drain. It's red, the water slipping between her toes. Her nose started bleeding somewhere between the first and second hour that she's been standing under the cool spray.

There's an ache in her chest, like someone punched her right on the sternum before wrapping a hand around her throat to cut off her air supply. Hermione manages to get a lungful every now and then, snorting water in along with the precious oxygen.

There's a song stuck in her head, for the first time since everything, and she's not even sure that she remembers the name or the artist, but it is about going back home. It's not even a nice song, but the part that sticks like stubborn glue to novice fingers is _I need someone to say you'll be alright, what's on your mind?_

Hermione figures that this is the way that she's slowly becoming herself again, finding her way home, and telling herself that she'll be okay. She can't be sure though, because she's been standing in this shower with the ugly plastic three-shades-of-brown shower curtain. Her head is pounding and her hands are shaking again. Hermione doesn't know how she manages to stay upright, but somehow she does.

It's the middle of the fucking day and she threw up on her clothes. That's why she's in the shower, Hermione reminds herself. She's in the shower to wash away her ever constant, ever present shame of being too weak to make it to the toilet before throwing up.

Throwing up on herself is not okay, it will never be okay. Her shaking hands will never be okay, her trembling legs, numb toes and fingers, her back being in so much electric pain that she feels like dying every single time she moves, her ribs hurting every time she breathes, her head pounding so hard that it feels like construction workers took up permanent residence there, _EVERY SINGLE THING_ hurts so much that it doesn't feel worth it.

But it is, isn't it? _It's worth it, right?_ Hermione can't help but ask herself. Getting clean is worth it.

Hermione reaches out and turns the water off. Her teeth are clattering now, shaking along with the rest of her body. Pushing the ugly shower curtain open, small rivulets of water run down the plastic and onto the bathmat, soaking it one drop at a time, Hermione's hand finds a towel and dries herself off. Her nose is still bleeding. Small drops of blood land on her chest as she bends over the toilet, toilet paper in hand.

Hermione remembers her mother telling her years ago that blowing your nose when it's bleeding, helps to stop the bleeding, so she does blow her nose and spit out stray amounts of blood that found their way down her throat. It works somewhat. The flow of blood ebbs, but Hermione still sticks two wads of twisted toilet paper into her nose to keep the blood from spraying everywhere.

She pulls her underwear on, her awful mandatory dull grey sweats over them. Hermione doesn't look at herself, doesn't look at how thin she's become, how her ribs look like long lost parts that were stolen from a xylophone. It doesn't help her one bit to dwell on these things, yet she does somehow in the back of her mind hate herself for everything she did to herself.

"Collins." Hermione whispers as she exits the bathroom. The name of the dictionary she bought the week before classes start. It was a Collins dictionary that defines the word therapy as _the treatment of physical, mental or social disorders or disease_.

:::

**AN:**** Hey guys. Sorry for the slight delay in getting this chapter to you. I'm back at university as an official honours student, so yay me.**

**I actually like this chapter, for the first time, right from the beginning. Please leave me your thoughts on this one. As always, comments make me do a little happy dance. On the inside though, no one wants to see me dance. Ahem.**

**The song Hermione is referring to is called **_**Back Home by Yellowcard**_** and I like the song, just you know creative liberty and what not.**

_**Dedicated to:**_

_***See Them Fly**_

_***Mary Ann**_

_***nobody**_

_***hprbdfan**_

_***Sarden**_

_***celticscorpion**_

_***Burrito**_

_***My two guest reviewers**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this story. I merely play around with them a little. Unbeta'd so any and all errors are entirely **__**mine**__**.**_

_**Whiskey Lullaby**_

"You look good."

"So do you." Ron replies. He doesn't feel as nervous as before. His knuckles still hurt a bit. Not like he wasn't beating the living shit out of the punching bag just a while ago, right? He's good, but he's not that good.

"How's the arm?" George is sitting down, perched on the end of the bar stool with one arm dangling nonchalantly off the side of the dark surface of the bar. If Ron didn't know him as well as he does, he's have sworn high and low that George is fine. Happy even. Problem is, Ron knows George as hell as he does and he knows his brother is nervous. He picks lightly at his pant leg when he gets nervous. That is his tell, which is why he sucks at poker.

"Tingly." Ron replies. Honestly is all he has to offer George right now. "You been sleeping alright?" George looks down and shrugs.

"Alright as I probably can." George answers. Ron knows that's the most he will be getting from George on the topic.

"How's the store?" Ron tries. His nervousness is slowly creeping back up his neck.

"Good, its- good." George gets a small wistful smile on his face. Ron knows his face mirrors that exact smile.

"That's good George. You have any new ideas for kids to terrorise their parents with? I mean, the last one, that puking thing?" Ron feels a chuckle bubble up and out between his lips. "That was a good one. I don't think I've ever seen mum as angry about complains being lodged at the shop and at home." George lets out a throaty laugh. It's not a fake one, like he gave at the beginning. This is an honest to God George Weasley laugh.

"Mum threw us with a wad of bin liners. I didn't know those things were so hard when thrown in groups, or that mum has such scary accuracy." George chuckles, causing Ron to laugh a little louder.

"Yeah, she's mighty frightening when she can be." Ron agrees. Their chuckles taper off and suddenly they're brothers again, not two strangers who coincidentally share the same blood.

"I miss you Ron, mum and dad both miss you. We all miss you man." And as suddenly as the comfort surrounding them came, it went away. Ron grits his teeth to keep from saying something rude and possibly offensive.

"I don't want to talk about this George." Ron turns toward the bar and signals the bartender, groaning out 'pint please'.

"Tough. We're talking about this." George turns in his seat, signalling for a refill on his empty glass.

"Then I suggest you go find someone to talk to." Ron bites back, moving to get up.

"I'm getting married." George blurts. Ron freezes, halfway between storming out and sliding back into the chair beneath him.

"I'm getting married Ron and I don't want my family to hate each other on the happiest day of my life. I want you there, not avoiding everyone, but actually getting along like we used to." George says quietly.

"Who?" Ron asks. George surely knows what he's asking. He pauses slightly before answering.

"Angelina." Ron's eyes don't bug out like he initially thought they would. He's known that this would happen eventually. Angelina and Fred dated back in the day and Ron knows for a fact, after a few drunken blurts on both sides, that they both still carried that proverbial torch for the other.

"Do you love her, or is this some weird thing to be closer to Fred." George pulls a face, but answers Ron anyway.

"I love her and she loves me. I have no qualms about the fact that she will always love Fred more than she'll love me, but it's comfortable and stable. I've known her all my life Ron and yeah sure, maybe it's a way to be closer to Fred, but that's not the only reason we're getting married. She makes me happy." George doesn't look at Ron, focusing instead on his pint.

George is right, in a sense. She might be a gateway to his dead brother, but George wouldn't marry someone if he doesn't have honest feelings for that person. Maybe that's one of the biggest differences between George and Ron.

"Okay then." Ron says and smiles. He won't contest this; he won't fight this like his brain is screaming at him to do. George wants and needs to be happy, so Ron'll grant him that.

"My brother is getting married!" Ron says loudly to the bar patrons and nobody in particular. Almost as if saying it out loud will force his molasses drowning tongue to wrap around the fact that George is getting married, which will shut his mind up and maybe take the stinging pain out of his heart. They're all really moving on now.

The bar patrons cheer and someone claps George on the back. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights of a very large truck.

"Consider it an impromptu stag night." Ron teases, grinning widely at George's pale face.

Suddenly there are at least three elderly and middle-aged men surrounding them, regaling George and Ron with tales of marriage gone wrong and funny incidents. George is laughing and so is Ron. This is the first time he feels genuinely at ease in someone's company, someone who isn't Lupin that is.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Ron sends a quick text. _I don't want to date you._ Twenty minutes and she's there, sidling up to the bar in jeans and a light sweater. Her make-up doesn't look like she went down on a clown and for the first time, Ron actually thinks that she's beautiful.

They smile at each other and even though Ron knows she isn't really who he wants, he feels a sliver of happiness surrounding him.

:::

**A/N: Sorry it has taken me nearly two months do write something, but Uni has been grilling me over the fire. I know this isn't a giant chapter, but I felt like Ron needs a little happiness, even if he knows he isn't ready for it yet. That's growing up, right? Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, you guys are amazing and really inspire me to write.**

**Please leave me some feedback before you leave.**


	14. Chapter 14

**I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this story. I merely play around with them a little. Unbeta'd so any and all errors are entirely **_**mine**_**.**

_**Whiskey Lullaby**_

_**Please note that this chapter contains sensitive subject matter.**_

Viktor had an air about him, Hermione decides. He had that whole _'I'm badass, so come closer if you dare'_ wrapped up in little flesh tearing spikes, smothered in charm and a face that would make even the coldest woman do a double take. She doesn't remember him in that naive way she did back when they were all still children. Back when she hurt Ron and Harry and Ginny and her parents and everyone who once cared.

She got pamphlets on group therapy and it all seems very civil. Very proper. All the steps are nicely outlined and Hermione relishes in the small things that she's in control of again. She'll continue her one-on-one sessions with Parker and will sit in group therapy for at least a year. It's their contingency plan, to spot the regression quickly. All the sources say that recovering from drug addiction is difficult and the first year is the most difficult to get past, just like the rest of her life is likely to be.

Parker will be here for her, she knows that much. Her parents will come around, not only because she needs them to, she just _needs_ them. She needs her father's soapy smell and stubble wreaking havoc with her hair when he hugs her; she needs her mother's sugar-cookie smell after she's been baking all day, combined with soft words and smiles and hugs and laughter.

Her friends will be more difficult to win back, but can she really still call them friends? It's been years since she's seen them all properly. She knows nothing about them, like they know nothing about her. Hermione's mind drifts back to Viktor. She misses the familiarity they shared.

Morning routine completed, sans Ginny, but Hermione cannot blame her for needing distance. Every girl needs to cry a little when she finds out that she's pregnant, whether it is tears of sadness, joy or fear. Ginny is simply cashing in her tears. Hermione feels her stomach flip. She feels bad for Ginny. Hermione knows that Harry loves Ginny and he'll do anything for her, but the whole debacle with her family is enough to drive anyone to tears, and it's funny. Hermione only knows snippets of what happened and it makes her cringe.

Parker's office is cool. He's left a window open and Hermione heads toward it. They don't greet or speak. The silence isn't pregnant, isn't judging. Not yet, Hermione muses.

"I had an abortion." Hermione says finally. She can practically feel Parker's eyebrows join his hairline.

"That's why Ron hates me, aside from the obvious things with Viktor." Hermione sighs. "We dated publically for a little while; secretly we'd been together for ages. We slept together a handful of times and I know what you're thinking, I'm this safety nut and I got pregnant. All these years later and I still don't really know how it happened. I mean- I know _how_ it happened, just not how it happened." Hermione sighs again and turns, leaning against the window sill.

"He wanted to keep it, but I couldn't. I was a child. We were both children and wanting to raise a child? Logically we both knew it was a bad idea, but Ron- he started smiling more and daydreaming about a house in the suburbs and I just couldn't. There was still so much I wanted to do and I couldn't just sacrifice it all for a baby that I wasn't sure I wanted. So I told him and it felt like I was crushing his heart, but he said he'd get the money. He never told me, but I always suspected that he got it from Fred, his brother. He went with me to the clinic. He held my hand, asked me a million times if I was sure and afterward he held my hand and dried my tears."

She doesn't say how he looked at her with such sadness in his eyes that it was literally killing her, or that when he touched her, she just knew that he saw her with a jutting belly, imagining a little him or her growing at a steady pace. But then he'd remember that she killed his child and would move away like she was the too-hot-shower-water scalding him.

Hermione turns her head to the side, peering into the yard. A watery sheen feels like its attacking her eyes and she lets it. She buried those memories away so long ago and even now, after all this time, they still hurt.

"I met Viktor a few months later and he didn't look at me like I killed his baby, and I took it with both hands and held on. He never asked why I was so broken; he just smiled and tried to make me feel better. I think maybe I wanted Ron to do the same, but then I remembered how happy he was when I told him and how easily I crushed his heart and I just- I couldn't do it again." Hermione feels her voice break and runs her sleeve under her nose to catch the abundance of tears and snot.

"How does that make you feel?" Parker asks and a laugh bubbles up from deep inside her chest. Now he decides to be the head-doctor he so easily professed to be.

"It makes me feel that I let something precious slip away because I was surrounded by teenage angst." Parker grins.

"You're human Hermione. You need to accept that." Hermione feels like clawing at the window to get out of Parker's office.

"I know I'm human, but none of what you try to convince me of makes me feel any better. It was a baby. A little girl. She had ten fingers and ten toes and the cutest nose I've ever been privileged to see, but I never told Ron that I saw her, that I saw the tiny human we made together, because I knew the hate he felt and _still_ feels. Telling him would have made things so much worse. He just had the idea, but I had a face to the word and a heartbeat to the idea. I killed a little girl, a perfect little girl, but I killed the idea Ron had and-" Hermione breaks off with a sob. Her entire being hurts, inside and out.

Parker doesn't say anything. Hermione isn't sure if she hates him for it, or if she's grateful. It was the catalyst, she muses. Getting pregnant started it all and Hermione knows that she's shifting blame again and this time onto a child who never got to experience the wonder of sunshine and that is infinitely worse.

"I've never told anyone that..." Hermione whispers. Parker doesn't offer tissues. She doesn't ask for any.

"My parents didn't know. Just Ron, Luna and I. Luna didn't even ask what I decided. I think she knew from the start, but she was decent enough not to say anything." Hermione chokes out a laugh. "She's far smarter and more wonderful than anyone gives her credit for."

"How sure are you that Ron would have hated you as much as you think?" Parker asks.

"Because I know him, and I know that what I did hurt him. When he gets hurt, he lashes out about nothing in particular and the real reason for the anger festers." Hermione feels herself answer. His hate has been festering for so long, not just toward her and his family, but the entire world.

"Being around just complicates their lives even more." Hermione says. She knows that Parker won't let her change the subject, but tries anyway.

"You know that's not true. Sure, maybe Ron hates you so much that he daydreams about plotting your demise, but at least he's still thinking about you. Thinking about someone and remembering them is far better than simply being forgotten." Parker says, not looking up.

"I know him." Hermione says softly.

"Do you really?" Parker asks and it's like a kick in the gut all over again.

They don't talk for the rest of the session, and it suits Hermione just fine. Even when the nurse comes for her, she knows it is time for the rest of the ward to get their meds and Hermione is allowed to sit staring out of the window while her blood bubbles with need, she says nothing to Parker. This is their parlay.

:::

The first principle of group therapy is the installation of hope. It shows the attendees people at different stages in the recovery process. Those people who are further along in the program are to be seen as beacons of hope to those who are just entering into the program.

It is the opinion of many therapists that group therapy is a good tool of integration into the original treatment plan, for those who are new and still a bit jumpy about being around people who aren't dealers.

Hermione feels her lips twitch at the descriptions on the pamphlets. Group therapy is universal and should impart information on the recovery process. She's not entirely sure, but calling bullshit is on the tip of her tongue. Group therapy is bound to feel like just another cell in this self-imposed prison she finds herself in.

The whole _'don't knock it, till you try it'_ thing should definitely apply here, but convincing Hermione that this group is going to help her in realising that she's going to be alright? Well, that just smells like rotten eggs.

The room group therapy is held in looks just like all the other rooms in this place. Rectangular, gray walls, filthy looking carpet and bars on the windows. Eight chairs are equally spaced from one another in the middle of the room, so that none of the inmates will be forced into each others' proximity and do something as banal as _touch_ each other.

One by one people trickle into the room, some wearing the same drab clothing Hermione is stuck with, others wearing civvies and Hermione can't help but feel a little jealous at the mere sight of _jeans_. A peppy woman with glasses and a clipboard walks into the room and she's wearing a smile that just grates on Hermione's already frayed nerves. Soon the seats are filled and Hermione forces herself to sit down. She is polite after all.

"Good morning everyone." The woman with the clipboard says. There is a groan of greetings flung at the woman and her smile grows even bigger than it was before.

"We have two new people with us today, welcome. Don't worry, you won't be sharing today. Today is just your turn to listen and then with our next session you can participate, okay?" The octave the woman raises on the last word makes Hermione clench her teeth in an effort not to bite her own arm off in frustration.

"So, let's start." The woman says, turning to the burly man on her right. He nods and introduces himself as Brian and says that he's in recovery for cocaine addiction, then goes on to tell the group his progress in the last week since the last group meeting. Hermione tunes him out after roughly five minutes. She feels minutely bad, it's not like she doesn't care, but right now she just cannot bring herself to care today.

The introductions go on for another half an hour and just before Hermione can nod off, a thing greying man clears his throat. It's his turn and he looks just as annoyed to be in this group meeting as she does, except his annoyance is accompanied by resignation.

"Hi, 'm Lupin." The man says. A murmur of hello's are extended. "I, uh was addicted to heroin when I just got back from duty. This week-" he sighs "this week has been a tough one. There's this kid who trains at the gym and he's a good kid, except I can see myself in him. I can see the hate and the hurt and I feel helpless. He doesn't know about these meetings, because that would kind of destroy the belief in me, right? Right, so uh, no near relapses, but I guess you already knew that since him in this side of the line." The group gives a collective chuckle and the man falls silent.

"Right, thank you everyone." The peppy woman says, turning to stare at Hermione and the skinny man next to her. "If you'd like to introduce yourselves?" She says. It's phrased as a question, but Hermione is pretty sure it's more of a command. The throat next to her clears and starts speaking.

"Adam. In for meth." He doesn't say anything, just scratches his arm and averts his eyes. The entire group's eyes move to her and Hermione feels her cheeks grow slightly hot.

"I'm Hermione. I was addicted to heroin a few weeks back." The peppy woman smiles at her and says thank you. The old man, Lupin, doesn't take his eyes off of her for a second. If her arms weren't shaking, she'd have snapped at him, but they do so she doesn't.

Hermione tunes out the rest of the hour, almost wishing time would pass quicker. She wants to get back to her room, curl up and pity herself for a little bit. Her mind drifts to her session with Parker. This is for the best, isn't it? Getting clean and living the life she was meant to live, it's worth it, isn't it?

:::

**AN:**** Sorry for the delay. University has been trying to murder me. I hope this chapter will do, and hey look now you know why Ron hates Hermione. Was it worth the wait? Leave me a review and tell me if it was. Thank you to the reviewers of the last chapter, you guys rock.**


	15. Chapter 15

_**I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this story. I merely play around with them a little. Unbeta'd so any and all errors are entirely mine.**_

_**Whiskey Lullaby**_

Opening his eyes is much easier the second time around, Ron notes. He's loose limbed. Sex does that to him. He's had her twice more since they drunkenly stumbled into her flat after bidding George goodnight or good morning, he's not exactly sure. Well, Ron mulls the word had over, it sounds too intimate. He's fucked her twice since last night, waking her up with his fingers on her breasts and his cock inside her, bringing her off with well placed fingers, before turning her over and fucking her again, slower until she'd moan and buck against him like one of those broncos he's seen on TV.

Ron stretches lazily. It's still early. The clock on the wall says it has just gone past six. Gentle pinkish light filters into the room through the thin blinds she has. Ron doesn't roll over, doesn't look at the blonde curls and lithe body next to him. He has an appointment to get to and he should go see Lupin too. His fingers itch to hit something. The peace he is experiencing almost feels like it is too much for him to handle right now. Like he doesn't deserve it, but logically he knows it isn't true. George is getting married and that is good.

George is moving forward and that is good, it is so good, so precious. For so long the only thing Ron wanted was for his brother to be happy again. Granted, it's not exactly with whom Ron had in mind, but George is happy. That is the only thing that matters. He's not doped out of his mind of drunk off his arse. He doesn't smell like a bar and a brothel anymore, and that counts as a win, right?

Ron feels like clinging to everything that has gone wrong in his life, will not have an effect on George or his happiness, so why should it continuously pull him down with nightmares and constant hatred? Ron doesn't want to think about it right now; instead he rolls over and wakes her up the old fashioned way. Then he'll see if Harry is up for pancakes.

:::

Stumbling into their shared flat, Ron rubs tiredly at his eyes. A quick fuck, fumble with his jeans and he's home before seven. Harry is in his impeccable suit and stares at him from the fridge. Ron almost forgets that they haven't seen each other for a few days.

"Mornin'." Ron mumbles and heads into the kitchen. Harry greets him by the time Ron passes him and the fridge.

"Hey. Uh, breakfast?"

"You're reading my mind." Ron replies. "Oh, I ship out in a few months, so I should probably get as much pancakes in as I can handle." Ron adds almost as an afterthought. Somewhere he knows that this is cruel, dropping something so huge, so casually that it almost hurts him. _Almost._ Harry's staring.

"What? You trying to imitate a fish now?" Ron grins. Harry just keeps staring. Ron gets the feeling he'll be making his own damn breakfast.

"You- when the hell did they tell you?!" Harry loudly demands. He's gone slightly red in the face, but Ron pays him no mind.

"About a week ago." Ron says nonchalantly, reaching for a cup to pour himself some coffee, seeing as breakfast is being put on hold for a tantrum.

"What the fuck Ron?" Harry might as well be stomping his foot like a petulant child not getting his way. "When were you going to tell us, the day you leave?" Harry slams the fridge shut. Ron can feel his irritation twitch.

"I dunno Harry. We've all been at each others' throats for so long, it just didn't seem important." Ron shrugs.

"How is this not important?" Harry is three seconds away from yelling down Ron's ear, so Ron just grins.

"It just isn't." Ron says, swallowing the last of his coffee before heading to his room, but Harry being Harry just has to stop him half way to his sanctuary.

"We're having dinner tonight and straightening this shit out, you hear me? You better be here at seven or so help me God Ron, I will find you and I will kill you before you can get yourself killed."

"You honestly wanted me to tell you when I haven't spoken to Ginny in what feels like forever, George wanting to suddenly see me, mum and dad making an appearance and God forbid, Hermione showing up, through all of that, you want me to focus a little more on me?" Ron remands. He can feel his ears going red in anger.

"You're going back there Ron. Of course it is important and of course I want you to tell me." Harry yells. He seems to catch himself, before continuing at a more apartment friendly indoor voice. "You're my best friend Ron. I see the way you've been distancing yourself. You're pushing everyone away and I don't know why. For fuck's sake Ron, you're shagging Malfoy's girlfriend." Harry says, exasperated.

"How'd you know?" Ron lamely asks.

"Christmas party at the clinic last year. He kept glaring at you after Gin told Lavender off." Harry replied, pulling out the kitchen table chair and sitting down. "You really thought I wouldn't have noticed before this? I mean, the naked pictures were a bit much, but showing up half naked at the door was a big sign too." Harry jokes.

Ron feels a smile tugging at his lips, before saying. "She's a good shag though." Harry stares for a minute before busting out in loud guffaws of deep belly laughter.

"Pancakes?" Ron asks with a grin and Harry snorts with laughter again. At least he's nodding and that means that Ronald Weasley is having pancakes for breakfast. Waving a limp salutation in Harry's direction, Ron turns to his room and closes the door behind him. He needs a shower. Lavender's awful perfume is cloying and it's making him nauseated.

He meant it too. She's a brilliant shag.

:::

Pancakes were superb and even Ron's session with old Osborne had gone well. At least the, and didn't think him to be crazy anymore, well, less crazy than he thought before. Ron nodded along to a nonexistent beat in his head, walking along the paving and passing trees bigger and older than this entire town.

The glass doors are being wiped down by the cleaning lady. One of the many cleaning ladies. This one has a funny name and a fake posh accent. Ron thinks her last name is Umbridge, but honestly, the man has had marathon sex and a pancake breakfast, he couldn't be paid to care right now.

Pushing the door open, laying his palm flat on the glass and earning a glare from the old frog herself, Ron grins and heads toward the reception desk. The usual receptionist is behind the desk. The one who smiles warmly but glares like a hellhound when she gets pissed off.

"Weasley." She greets.

"Professor." Ron replies with a grin. There's a twinkle in her eye and Ron just knows she's in a good mood.

"How many times have I told you to call me Minerva?"

"As many times as I'll keep calling you Professor." Ron says with a shrug.

"You haven't been around in a few weeks Weasley, are you here to see your sister?" She enquires. Ron shakes his head.

"Here to see a patient actually. Granger. Does she have visitation hours yet?" Ron asks, leaning on the reception desk while Minerva checks the database, not saying a word about how he so deftly dodged the question about Ginny. She probably knows he hasn't been around at all. She hasn't been here either, but somehow she knows. She always knows.

"Excellent timing. Her visitations start today. You'll have to wait though; group is in session for another half hour at least." Minerva says, pointing to the uncomfortable chairs lining the wall.

"You know I don't mind waiting Professor. Age is just another number." Ron says with a wink, causing Minerva to laugh loudly, the crow's-feet around her eyes crinkling with blatant amusement.

"Oh Weasley, I'm old enough to be your grandmother."

"I like a little spice with my woman professor."

"Spice or no spice, I have sweaters older than you." Minerva fires back. There's a twinkle in her eye and hell Ron has missed this so much. Hess missed the back and forth with this lanky old woman and the cookies she always brought him when he'd come to see Ginny on Wednesdays. She's been gone for a few weeks now, back home somewhere to bury her husband, Albus.

Heart attack she'd said to Ginny, on their balcony. Luckily he was dead before he hit the ground, three stories down. Ron didn't see her that day, but he did call her. Never in his life did Ron think that an old woman he barely knew outside of clinic banter, and who barely knew him could sound so grateful for a simple phone call. He felt good that day, except a week later Hermione came back and cocked it all up again.

"Shall I tell your sister that you're here Weasley?" Minerva asks. Ron shakes his head.

"I'd rather keep you company." He says teasingly. Minerva cocks an eyebrow and Ron just knows she's calling bullshit on him right now.

"She's been ill." Minerva says offhandedly, typing away at her computer. "Can't keep much down and keeps running to the bathroom every couple minutes." She doesn't look up from the screen and Ron stares at his hands. He's finding it increasingly more difficult to care.

"Yeah? Probably food poisoning. You know how much she loves sushi." Ron says. Minerva stops typing and stares at him.

"Or maybe she's pregnant. I may not have any children, but I know morning sickness when I see it." Minerva sounds almost bored, as if she's trying to tell Ron that he's being an idiot. He is an idiot, but she's not allowed to say it.

"Prof-" Ron starts, but Minerva cuts him off.

"Group is done. You can wait in the cafeteria while they finish up. I'll send a nurse with your friend. No going outside just yet, alright?" And with that, the conversation is over and Ron walks to the cafeteria like a good little boy, not saying a word.

:::

Ten minutes later Ron is sitting by the windows, staring out across the sunlight yard. The plump Scottish nurse leads a frail woman with bushy hair toward his table. The nurse says something about not going outside and then walks off.

"You look awful." Ron says. She blinks, digs her fingers into her bony arms and clenches her jaw.

"So do you." She fires back. Ron gestures to the plastic chair that makes your arse go numb after a while, across the table from him. She nods, pulls it out and sits down gingerly. Ron can see her bony shoulders through her clinic issued greys. Her face is gaunt and she looks pretty close to death's door. Her hair isn't as curly as it used to be; instead it is pale and only making a futile attempt at being curly.

"I thought you never wanted to talk to me again." She says, pulling Ron from his thoughts.

"I didn't want to."

"So why are you here?" She asks, rubbing her shaking hands into what Ron is certain are bony forearms.

"I don't know. Think you're the only person who hates me the least right now." Ron says, leaning on his forearms on the table.

"I don't hate you." She says, to which Ron looks up and cocks an eyebrow at her. "Much." She adds, smiling slightly.

They don't talk again for another hour. They simply sit together. A little while later the same Scottish nurse comes back and tells them it is time for lunch. They both nod and she rises.

"I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" Ron says to her and she nods, smiling tentatively.

"See you tomorrow Ron."

"See you tomorrow Hermione."

:::

**AN: I hope the reunion was worth the wait too... University and work is killing me, so the next update will take a while. I apologise in advance. Please remember to review before you leave. And look, over a hundred reviews! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, I love all of you.**


	16. Chapter 16

**I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this story. I merely play around with them a little. Unbeta'd so any and all errors are entirely mine.**

_**Whiskey Lullaby**_

Dinner, while usually Ron's favourite time and meal of the day, is strained. Well, it is the sort of awkward that only comes with a _'I slept with someone you hate and now I'm making a joke about it' _sort of way. Harry keeps trying to initiate small talk, but Ginny isn't talking and Ron is staring at his potatoes like he wants to levitate them, and himself, from the room at the speed of sound. Harry makes a frustrated noise and takes a gulp of the cheap wine he went to buy earlier. He pulls a face that clearly suggests that the wine tastes like shit, but it isn't like Ron would know. He hasn't touched his glass and swirling the deep red liquid around doesn't count.

This is how it is supposed to be, Ron muses. Ginny was always the least strange, least awkward person in his life and now they can barely speak to each other beyond customary greetings. They've turned into those siblings who only talk to each other on birthdays and at Christmas.

"So, I'm leaving in a few months." Ron blurts. Harry goes from frustrated to murderous in an instant, levelling a glare that could chip paint straight at Ron. Ginny looks up, finally. Finally acknowledging his presence above_ 'person at table'_ she reserves for work functions that Malfoy insists she attend. It is a cross between annoyed, upset and a little pissed off, all combined on a perfectly schooled, perfectly blank face. Ron knows Ginny far better than she likes.

"When?" She asks, calm as she's never been.

"Little over two months." Ron replies. Ginny nods. Her eyes are misty, like she wants to cry.

"I'm pregnant." She whispers back, like they're trading revelations while playing truth or dare.

"What?!" Both Ron and Harry exclaim almost simultaneously. Ginny nods again, looking anywhere but here. Harry gapes, his mouth opening and closing once, twice, before snapping shut with an audible click.

"Eight weeks." She says, softly. "Surprise." She jokes lamely.

The silence that follows is pregnant, more so than his own sister, but Ron can literally feel the atmosphere bearing down on his shoulders like the pack filled with bricks his old drill sergeant strapped to all their backs and told them to run up a steep fucking hill and back in under fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes was the recommended time, but they all knew that if you did it in fifteen minutes and two seconds, the sergeant would have your balls in the palm of his hands and squeezing so hard that even the strongest of men would cry, at least a little. He threw up halfway down and was placed on patrol duty for a week. Right now, Ron feels like throwing up, just like he did halfway down that fucking hill.

"Harry," Ron starts. His voice is barely a whisper and Ron hates it, but he pushes on. "Would you give us a few minutes?" Harry looks like he's about to protest, and _loudly_ at that, before Ginny puts a hand on his arm.

"You ran out of ice cream last week and forgot to buy more on the last grocery run." She gives him a small smile. Harry looks at her like she's sunshine and destruction and life, love, with everything in between. He murmurs a soft okay, squeezes her hand, glares at Ron momentarily and leaves. Ron takes a swig of his own cheap wine and grimaces. The shit is _truly_ awful. Ron ponders whether or not it could be put to use as paint thinner, seeing as it will definitely destroy his liver if he drinks more of it.

When Ginny gets up and walks over to the sofa though, Ron shuffles after her. They sit like two awkward teenagers on their parents' sofa, being scolded for coming home late and a little drunk. Ron smiles, they actually had a scolding like that. Ron squeezed Ginny's hand so tightly to remind her to keep her composure. She was a little drunk, a lot high and very close to giggles. Ron misses the kids they used to be.

"I can't do it Gin." Ron murmurs, taking her left hand in his right. "I don't remember how to be a normal human being anymore and everything has gone balls up complicated for all of us. I don't want to be this person I am anymore and I can't do it here. It's all still too raw, too painful." Ginny chokes out a sob and Ron pulls her into his chest.

"I forgot for a while, what it was like to have friends and a family and people who don't hate me. You're having a baby Gin," Ron whispers into Ginny's hair. "You're having a _baby_ and I should be freaking out because you're my baby sister, but you don't need me or my bullshit anymore. You're having a baby Gin, a little kid who'll terrify you in some or other way soon enough. You have a family to build and you don't need me as another child you need to raise." Ron pauses.

"You're my sister, my best friend, my fucking soul mate in a non incesty way. I fucking love you, you ginger pain in my arse." Ron tugs her even closer, cradling her against him like a precious glass doll

Ginny twists her fingers into Ron's shirt, hair covering her face as tears fall from her cheeks onto his t-shirt. "I don't want you to go. You won't come back this time." Ginny says, between sobs. Ron doesn't contradict her or try to reassure her. Her words have always been true. It hits Ron in the chest, his baby sister is having a fucking baby and he knows he won't get to know a little human with Ginny's face and Harry's eyes.

"You're having a baby Gin." Ron says again. They don't speak again, instead waiting for Harry and ice cream. She'll hold up the facade, Ron knows that much. Harry is his brother as much as Ginny is his sister, but he's never been good at dealing with loss.

Ice cream is perfect for dealing with loss, even if Ron is numb. He doesn't mind.

:::

Showing up at her door is probably not the best idea he's ever had. Ron knows she's a little in love with him, or at least a little _in-use_ with him, to make Malfoy jealous. Ron doesn't mind. He doesn't like the little prick anyway.

It's just after midnight and she opens the door in skimpy underwear and a tank top, mussed hair and sleepy eyes.

If any of the neighbours see him kissing her in the doorframe or fucking her with the door still slightly open, right there on the floor of her foyer, well, they can go fuck themselves.

:::

**AN:**** I've had some of this typed out for a while, but the dialogue came from a very personal conversation with my best friend, my platonic fucking soul-mate. Her birthday was the 8th, leave her some love? Don't hate me for this chapter, okay? Happy endings were never promised. Anyway, thanks for all the reviews so far, you guys are awesome. Never thought anything I write would get over 100 reviews. **


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